


Act 1: Splinters

by balimaria



Series: The L'manburg Chronicles [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Complete, Dissociation, Dream Smp, Duelling, Eret's Fun Foreshadowing Corner (TM), Found Family, Fundy has bigger parts bc I Care Him, Gen, Hamilton References, Happy Ending, He's trying okay it's a stressful situation, Hurt/Comfort, Independence, Jschlatt's Fun Foreshadowing Corner (TM), L'Manberg War of Independence on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Major Character Injury, Minecraft IRL, POV Wilbur Soot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pyromanic!Sapnap, Revolution, Sacrifice, Self-Sacrifice, Tommy's kind of a BAMF not even gonna lie, Trauma, War, War Trauma, Wilbur has Complicated feelings about Eret, Wilbur is bad at taking care of himself, for the majority, hey tags I think you mean indepenDANCE, now featuring:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26162254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balimaria/pseuds/balimaria
Summary: Wilbur has hurt people. He knows that. He used Tommy, Tubbo, and Fundy for his own means because they were too young to understand what he'd been doing. But Wilbur would fix it. He'd keep them safe, no matter the cost. And if that meant creating his own nation, becoming president, starting a war, and sacrificing everything for independence?Then so be it."Independence or death. If we get no revolution, we want nothing."The revolution arc rewritten. Act 1 of The L'manburg Chronicles, with act 2 in progress. Check out "Remnants."
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: The L'manburg Chronicles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932613
Comments: 117
Kudos: 770
Collections: Dream SMP Fics





	1. Cinders

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY I KEEP CHANGING PLOT POINTS IN THIS FIC I HAVE TO IN ORDER TO KEEP UP WITH THE LORE AJJDBDNJJHHDHSHSHSJ
> 
> \----
> 
> Join the MCYT discord!
> 
> PERMANANT LINK: https://discord.gg/nj5qfunhz6

A nation. Their nation. What an absurd thought. Dream’s kingdom was absolute in its power - unwavering, unshakable. And yet here he stood, watching thick walls of concrete shape their borders. Wilbur steps back, letting himself observe every detail of their new land. The water of the lake sparkles in the afternoon sun, Fundy sat in its center, waves washing away the grit and mud caught in his fur. Tommy laughs from the branches of the redwood tree as Tubbo attempts to climb to where he is seated. A flag waves, newly dyed, newly staked, in the earth upon the hill. All blacks and reds and golds and blues - Their colors. L’manburg’s colors.

Wilbur had never planned for this to happen, never planned to care so much. But Tommy’s blind dedication, Tubbo’s kind heart, his son's patience, Eret’s loyalty… Wilbur had used them for a petty plot of revenge without a care for the person behind their work. And that’s how he had planned to continue. But as he’d watched Sapnap’s arrow pierce Tommy’s shoulder, watched the boy fall to the ground, watched him bleed the grass red…

Wilbur realized that, against every intention, he had grown to care about them. And he knew that after everything he’d made them do, they’d never be safe.

But Wilbur could, _would_ make it up to them. He would protect every last one of them, no matter what it cost. Dream would try to shatter his will, but he wouldn’t let it happen. Wilbur would die before he did.

But in this moment, he smiles as he calls to them. Each name falls loud and prideful from his tongue, every one a call to action. Tommy hops down from his perch, taking Tubbo’s hand as the two friends dash over to hear his words. Fundy wades out of the lake, fur shining in the sun. Eret, his skin slightly sunburnt from working all day, approaches with a tired smile.

Wilbur waits for them before the Camarvan, smiling as he meets each one of their eyes.

“No armor, no weapons,” Wilbur says. “In this nation, we are safe. We use our words.”

Tommy, his shoulder still bandaged from Sapnap’s arrow, smiles up at him, emotion swirling in his eyes. Tubbo puts an arm around Fundy with a cry of “to Wilbur!”  


Eret’s eyes are hidden behind his glasses, but a small smile still curves his lips.

Night settles across the kingdom. It is no different from the nights before, yet it marks the beginning of something new. Something great. But Wilbur doesn’t sleep. He has something important to accomplish, and there is no rest for the wicked.  


A needle slips through thick fabric, each stitch a word without a voice. A uniform for every one of them - all blacks and reds and golds and blues.

Their colors. L’manburg’s colors.

\----

The door of the Camarvan slides open with a push of Wilbur’s hand, letting sunlight pour inside. The morning is bright, only the smallest wisps of cloud laying at the horizon. Wilbur takes a moment to admire it all- this was their sanctuary, after all. Their refuge. And yet…

Wilbur had emerged into the sunlight with one expectation. The Greater Dream SMP is a powerful kingdom, and something as monumental as a revolution was unlikely to go undetected for long.

Much to Wilbur’s dismay, he is proven right. A glance up at their walls reveals four men standing silhouetted against the day, enchantments swirling against their armor. Wilbur scowls up at them, wishing them away with his glare alone.

Of course, it doesn’t work. But it was worth a shot.

They slide down L’manburg’s newly crafted walls, gravel showering around their boots. Each one’s features come slowly into focus as the light hits their skin.

Wilbur feels dread settle, heavy and solid, in his stomach. These weren’t nobody soldiers.

Dream himself stands before him, his mask glowing a blinding white in the daylight, the sinister smile seeming as dark as the void. Sapnap and George stand to his right and left, each decked with axes ground to a deadly edge. Punz stands a few feet back, his shadow bulked by thick armor. The silence seemed to stretch on for hours.

Wilbur breathes rhythmically, doing his damnedest to calm his fluttering nerves.

“Dream,” he calls, trying his best to keep his tone light. “I see you’ve come across our new nation."

Nothing. Just the leaves in the wind.

“We welcome you to build an embassy in our land, as we have in yours,” Wilbur tries. “I hope that we can have a long and prosperous future together, as neighboring nations.”

Dream’s head tilts down, the blank eyes of the mask somehow seeming to glare. He feels his lips tighten at Dream’s lack of response, nerves swirling deep in his stomach. Wilbur knows for a fact that if Dream attacked him now, he would die.

But he doesn't attack. Not even a word passes between the four of them. All they do is turn and, one by one, vault back over the wall.

Wilbur clenches his fist until his nails dig into the palms of his hands. They’d said nothing, done nothing, and yet Wilbur could still feel dread crawling up his throat. Footsteps sound against the grass behind him. Wilbur takes a deep breath to regain his composure, then turns.

Tommy stands before him, rubbing a fist against his eye.

“Wilbur, what's going on?” he asks through a yawn. “I heard voices. Is something happening?”

Wilbur smiles sadly. He doesn’t want to tell his brother, doesn’t want him to live in fear. But...

“Dream came and gave us a visit, Tommy.” Wilbur breaks the news as gently as he can.

Tommy is instantly alert. “What?” he yelps in surprise. “Did he hurt you? What did he want? Are we-”

Wilbur holds up a hand to stop the flood of questions. “I’m not hurt, no. And I don’t know what he wants. He didn’t say anything, but…”

“But what?”

Wilbur looks down at his boots. “I have a feeling it was a threat regardless,” he finishes solemnly. 

Tommy’s face falls, the full gravity of the situation hitting him like a rock. “Wilbur…” he whispers, voice cracking. “I... I don't...”

Wilbur pulls the kid in for a hug. “I know,” he soothes, rubbing soothing circles against his back. “I know. But we’re going to be okay. Dream is strong, but we’re stronger. As long as we've got each other, here’s nothing he can throw at us that we can’t handle.”

Tommy sniffs, then looks up at him with wide, wet eyes.

“I don’t know, Wil,” is all he says.

Wilbur combs a hand through Tommy’s hair, hesitating. He wants to comfort Tommy, wants to tell him that he’ll be okay until it’s really the truth. But the only thing Wilbur can be certain of is uncertainty.

They return to the Camarvan after that, finding comfort in the familiar walls. Fundy and Tubbo are awake, sitting towards the back, chatting quietly to themselves. They look up as Wilbur and Tommy enter, standing to attention when they notice the two’s expressions.

“Men,” Wilbur says, though they are only children. “Dream has discovered our nation, and I fear he is not up for cooperation.”

Fundy and Tubbo frown, backs straight and tense. “What do we do?” Fundy asks. His voice is unwavering, but his hands tremble.

Wilbur sighs. “Nothing yet. We still don’t know what they’re planning to do. But… I do know one thing - we aren’t going to give in. We will fight for our freedom, our safety, and we will win.”

The three’s eyes sparkle with a desperate hope. Wilbur smiles reassuringly.

“In the meantime,” he says, tone lighter. “I have a gift for all of you. Would one of you fetch Eret, please?”

Tubbo scurries off in search of their missing number as Wilbur pads into the backroom. He lifts one of the chests open with a long creak, revealing five finely crafted uniforms. Wilbur takes a moment to smile down at his handiwork, before carefully draping each one over his forearm.

When he returns, all five of them are gathered in the cramped room. Wilbur lays the uniforms over the counter top, letting them take it in. He hears gasps from over his shoulder as they realize what Wilbur has. Fundy is the first to approach, eyes alight with wonder.

“Are these really for us?” he asks, and Wilbur nods.

"Yes, my little champion. The pastel one is for you!"

Fundy gives him a shaky grin, before rushing to the backroom to change, the others close on his heels. Wilbur smiles softly as he ghosts a palm over the cloth, hoping, hoping...

He dons the uniform, looking at himself in the tinted glass of the windows. The bronze buttons glimmer faintly in the daylight, contrasting sharply with the royal blue of his coat. A red sash is tied tightly around his waist, holding the white undershirt in place. Golden shoulder pads sway lightly in the draft, shining nearly as bright as the buttons.

Wilbur refocuses his eyes on the outdoors, watching their flag wave in the breeze. 

Tommy and the rest return soon, their new outfits fitted tightly around their forms. Tubbo and Tommy give him a hug, Eret nods once, a smile on his face. His son is too busy admiring the fabric to notice much of anything.

“Thank you,” Tommy says into Wilbur’s chest. “Th-”

The boy freezes, and pulls away. “Hey… do you guys…?”

He tilts his head up, sniffing the air. Fundy joins him, his more sensitive nose better for parsing out the scent.

His son's eyes go wide, lips parting in dread.

“It's smoke,” he hisses. “Dad, it’s smoke.”

Wilbur feels his lungs constrict, and not just because of the ash in the air. He sprints out the door, the situation feeling far away and yet all too real at the same time.

Wilbur hears it before he sees it. That deathly crackle of sparks, wood falling and crumbling into ash, gasses hissing into the air. He can’t help a whimper of fear at the sight of the glow, just beyond their walls. Wilbur’s frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. Someone is shouting, but he doesn’t hear.

“-bur! Wilbur! We need to keep the fire out of L’manburg! Wilbur!”

Tommy shakes his shoulder violently, fear and determination shining equally bright in his eyes.

The next few minutes are a blur for Wilbur. Fundy and him are frantically hammering out bucket after bucket, filling each with water from the lake before casting it over the flames. It’s not enough though - the only reason their nation wasn’t being turned to ash right now was because of Eret's half-built walls.

Wilbur yells in frustration as he arcs another bucket of water over a burning tree trunk. Steam rises from where the droplets land, causing the flames to waver - but they don’t die. Wilbur hears a crackle from behind him, but he ignores it. Fire crackles and it hisses and burns and destroys and kills. That’s just what it is.

So when a man emerges from the burnt remains of the undergrowth, the dying embers shining against his teeth, Wilbur almost wonders if he’s part of the fire as well. Flint and steel gleam in his hand. There is an inferno in his eyes and in his chest and in his heart.

Wilbur backs away, his mind racing. 

“It’s okay,” Sapnap drawls. “I’m not going to hurt you yet.”

_Yet._

For every step back Wilbur takes, the other moves a step forward. It’s cat and mouse, and there’s no question who is who.

“This is only a warning of what is to come,” Sapnap hisses through his teeth. “If you continue this little rebellion-”

Sapnap’s hand snaps around Wilbur’s cravat. Someone cries out in the distance. The fire rages. 

“What happens next will be much, much worse.”

Sapnap releases Wilbur, letting him fall to the blackened earth. Wilbur watches in resignation as his boots disappear into the remains of the bracken.

Wilbur can’t bring himself to move. Everything is sore. Ash is staining his brand-new uniform. The fire is burning. But he scrapes his nails through the dirt, baring his teeth. No. _No._ He wasn’t going to be intimidated by some petty fucking arson. He wasn’t going to give up before things had even started.

Wilbur growls through his teeth as he raises his leadend body from the ground. His muscles ache right down to the bone, but he pushes through. There isn’t anything to support himself with - every bit of forest outside their walls was either too brittle or burned. But Wilbur keeps walking. For L'manburg, for its people. Eventually, he stumbles upon Tubbo and Tommy, still desperately trying to put out the inferno. The two stop when they see Wilbur’s state, rushing over to his side in a blur. They hike their arms under his shoulders, helping him up. Wilbur's smiles as the two gratefully.

The walls of L’manburg are visible through the skeletons of the trees, but it still feels like years before they finally make it back. The bright green of the trees, the grass, _everything,_ is nearly too much for Wilbur after the blacks and grays and reds of the fire. His eyes burn.

Tubbo opens the door of the Camarvan for them while Tommy helps him inside. Fundy and Eret are waiting, staring dully at the window, watching the fire eat itself alive. It's silent as Tommy gently wraps bandages around Wilbur’s burns. There’s nothing to be said. Not here, not now.

Wilbur joins Eret and Fundy’s silent vigil. He watches as afternoon light streaks through the windows, showing their ash-stained walls in agonizing detail. The fire had brushed against their nation, barely kept at bay - and it showed.

Wilbur goes to bed early. He’s tired. He needs to sleep. But even so, rest evades him. He clutches the sheets of his bed, his mouth a thin slash across his face.

_It's only just begun, and Dream’s already gone too far._

The words repeat like a mantra through his head, stoking the anger boiling in his heart.

_They’ve gone too far._

_Fundy could have died. Tommy could have died. Eret, Tubbo..._

_They’ve gone too far._

In a fit of anger, Wilbur flips off his blankets and stalks over to the table. Roughly, he sits, pulling out a quill and ink pot, along with a thick sheet of parchment.  


“Declaration of Independance,” Wilbur reads to himself as he writes.

“When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another…”

\----

“...We mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.

Signed: Wilbur Soot, Tommy, Fundy, Tubbo, Eret.”

Wilbur raises a toast. There are deep bags under his eyes, but still he is overjoyed. All the members of L’manburg raise their glasses as well.

“To independence!” Wilbur cries.

“To independence!” they reply.

All five of them drink with a cheer.

The Declaration sits framed upon the wall, five signatures still wet against the paper.


	2. White Flags

A week later, there is a parchment pinned to their door with an arrow. It’s such an innocuous thing. Much too small to be saying what it is.

“Declaration of War,” it says regardless, the handwriting thin and neat. Dream gives them a month of peace to prepare - or surrender, as it silently implies - before they launch their first attack. Wilbur sighs, gripping the parchment tight enough to rip it. This was inevitable, he knew. But it still hurt. Hurt to know that he was going to be shoving these men into _war._ Hurt to know that he had no idea if it would be worth it, or if they would even make it out. But he keeps his head high, remembering…

_“Chin up, Wilbur. Your crown is falling.”_

Laughter. The glint of sun against curving horns. An arm around his neck when everything was drowning.

Wilbur smiles, even as he holds the promise of death in his hands.

\----

There’s a tension inside their newly constructed house, even before Wilbur has said a word. Like the world is holding its breath, bracing for impact. The building was a homely place, yes - all soft redwood and warm candlelight. But even that couldn’t crush the pervading atmosphere of dread. Tommy is the only one Wilbur sees inside. He’s sitting at the table, reading from a book about bees of all things. Their other members were likely still out gathering materials for the coming war, as Wilbur had ordered them to earlier that day. 

As soon as Wilbur enters, Tommy looks up from his book, a nervous question in his eyes. Wilbur nods. It's all Tommy needs to know.

“What do we do?” he asks softly, like speaking any louder would shatter the temporary peace in their nation.

Wilbur purses his lips. “It’d be best if we talked with the others here,” he says, avoiding the question.

Tommy pauses, but nods.

Wilbur steps over to where the boy is sitting, placing a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. “It’s going to be alright, Tommy. Okay?” he reassures.

Tommy looks vaguely like he’s going to throw up, but nods once more.

The air inside the room is stale, and Wilbur can’t help but feel like he’s suffocating. His mind is racing, skimming through problems and solutions faster than he can comprehend. And yet, one thought stands strong above the flood.

“Tommy.”

The boy looks up again, running his fingers over the lapels of his uniform. “Yes?” he manages to choke out, immediately cringing at the crack in his voice.

“I want you to be my second in command.”

Tommy is on his feet in seconds, hands held up in defiance. “What? Wilbur, no, you’re making the wrong choice, I’m-” he begins to protest, but Wilbur holds up his finger, expression stern.

“Tommy, you are the most kind, dedicated, hardworking man I’ve ever met. And - listen to me,” Wilbur leans down, cupping a hand around Tommy’s cheek. “You’re going to do great, okay?”

Tommy wrings his hands. “But… Wil, I’ve never been in charge before. I don’t know what I’m doing! I can’t…”

Tommy’s expression hardens suddenly, his fists balled tight and shoulders tense.

“You know what? Sure. It’s a pleasure to serve beside you, sir.”  


Tommy salutes, a smile on his face.

“Likewise,” Wilbur smiles.  


Fundy, Tubbo, and Eret return a few hours later. Wilbur lets Tommy brief them, giving his new lieutenant some practice in the field. He’s a little awkward, sure, but Tommy pulls through.

Wilbur feels pride rise in his chest.

“Alright,” Wilbur commands when Tommy is finished. “Now, I know you’ve all been very busy, but I’m sure you understand that the situation is dire. We need materials now more than ever.”

The four men in front of him nod solemnly.

“Son,” Wilbur begins. The fox stands to attention, waiting for his commands. “I’m sending you to the nearest village. Bring every emerald you’ve got - we’ll need arrows, iron, weapons, food, and ender pearls.”

Fundy nods, immediately rushing outside. Wilbur turns to Eret next.

“Eret, you’ve done an amazing job crafting our walls, but I’m afraid I have to ask more of you. I need them three times as tall - blackstone reinforced. I can provide you with materials. When you’re done-” Wilbur cuts off, looking to Tubbo. “You will go farming and hunting with Tubbo. We need as much food and golden apples as you can find. Dismissed.”

Eret and Tubbo make their exit, leaving Wilbur and Tommy once more alone. Wilbur sighs quietly, before turning to his right hand man.

“Tommy. I want you by my side every step of the way. Are you with me?”

Tommy’s eyes are like pricks of ice when he speaks.

“Through it all, Wil.”

\----

The tentative peace of the month is spent in preparation. They mine through the Nether for hours, digging ancient debris out from the depths of hell itself. Eret builds their walls taller and stronger than ever before. Fundy journeys for miles to the nearest village, trading every emerald in his pocket for gear. Tubbo farms and hunts through the heat of the day, stocking each meal in an icebox below their base. Healing potions are brewed. Bandages are wrapped. A stash of golden apples sits buried just below the ground. 

Each and every day, Wilbur convenes with Tommy in private, making plans, building their defenses, preparing for every possibility, every outcome.

Hours and hours of time are spent slashing and stabbing through training dummies, piercing targets, and hurling axes until each one of them can do it without a second thought. It’s against everything Wilbur has said their nation is, but what choice do they have?

It’s this, or death.

\----

When Tubbo flings open the door on the first day of the new month, breath ragged and fear running wild in his eyes, Wilbur knows it's finally begun.

“Wilbur-”

He’s up in a flash, guiding Tubbo to a chair before the boy passes out.

“Deep breaths,” he soothes. “C’mon Tubbo, in and out. In and out…”

Excruciatingly slow, Tubbo’s breath returns to something resembling normalcy. But now that the adrenalin of his plight has faded, tears have begun to gather in the corners of his eyes. Tubbo was stronger than people gave him credit for- and seeing him cry was a rare and serious sight. Knowing this, Fundy pads up to his side, letting Tubbo brush against his soft fur. Tommy and Eret stand off to the back, seeming unsure of what to do.

A minute passes. Then two. Finally, Wilbur deems Tubbo calm enough to question.

“Tubbo, what happened?” he asks gently. “Are you okay?”

Tubbo nods shakily, tears still snaking down his face.

“T-they…” he begins, before choking up. Wilbur lets him take his time, knowing that there is no use in pushing.

“Wilbur, they - they destroyed my house.” Tubbo’s voice breaks on the last word, his face dissolving back into tears. He cries into Fundy’s nape, mussing the fox’s fur until it more resembled a rat’s nest.

He is sobbing, but Wilbur only feels cold. This wasn’t a fair fight - this was unprovoked. Pointless violence that only served the purpose of _spite._

A white hot fire builds inside Wilbur’s heart, searing away any kind of remorse he may have once had for Dream. Wilbur looks into Tubbo’s red-rimmed eyes, and nods once. Just once.

Then he leaves.

The day seems too perfect for what is happening. It’s so clear and bright that it hurts. Wilbur scowls towards the clouds, cursing the Sky Gods. A dagger dangles loosely from his belt. It feels like a toothpick in the face of everything, but it’s better than nothing.

The grass crunches beneath Wilbur’s feet as he approaches the gate out of L’manburg. The silence swallows the sound in milliseconds, making Wilbur wonder if this was even real.

Maybe it was a dream.

A dream.

_Dream._

Ash is smeared across his mask, settling him perfectly amongst the half-burnt earth. Wilbur’s muscles wind tight, ready to spring into action at the slightest movement.

“General Soot. I’ve been waiting for you.”

His name. The first words Dream had ever said to him. Wilbur feels dirtied, somehow.

“Why?” is all he responds with, his voice hard and low. Dream acknowledges the question with a laugh.

“This is what war is, Soot. I’d recommend you get used to it, now that you've started one.”

Wilbur forces himself to show no emotion, even though Dream’s words have stoked his rage to an inferno. “What do you want?” he growls.

Dream takes a step forward, coming face to face with Wilbur. "I want my land back. I want my kingdom to be whole." He bares his teeth, staring daggers into Dream's mask. "Good fucking luck, then." Dream sighs, shaking his head. “I’m here to give you a warning.”

Wilbur scoffs. “Thought your pet pyromaniac already did that.”

“I think it’s obvious that the message didn’t quite get through to you."

Wilbur bares his teeth in a snarl. “Say it then, cunt. Whatever it is, we’re not backing down.”

Dream laughs, and Wilbur feels like punching him. “General Soot. This is my kingdom, and has been since I first set foot here-” Dream grasps Wilbur’s arm, his fingernails digging into his flesh even through his uniform. “-I will do whatever it takes to get back the land that is rightfully mine. And if you and your _nation_ don’t comply-” Dream pulls him in closer. “-We are going to kill you.”

Wilbur rips himself away, his anger turning cold. 

“You’re going to kill us either way, psycho,” he snarls.

Dream stares, and Wilbur stares back. The quiet is deafening.

Finally, Dream lifts his hand, making a gesture behind him. The trees shiver, and for a fearful moment Wilbur wonders if they are going to collapse right there and then. But no. A dark hole emerges from the foliage, followed by cold iron and rickety wheels. Wilbur watches, feet glued to the earth, as Sapnap and George wheel out two immense cannons.

Their walls are strong. Eret had made sure of that. But nothing short of netherite would stand up to weapons of that size.

Wilbur knows his fear is slipping into his eyes, and so does Dream. The man straightens, towering over Wilbur despite the fact that he is taller than Dream.

 _“White flags,”_ Dream snarls. “I want to see _white flags,_ outside your base, by tomorrow, _at dawn,_ or you are _dead!”_

Wilbur runs, and Dream lets him. He’s won with just a shake of his hand, after all. Wilbur hears this hiss of sparks along a fuse. Such a small sound, for such a deadly thing.

Wilbur feels his ears ring at the deafening boom of the cannonfire. He feels like he’s going to die.

_Am I going to die?_

He sees it happen in slow motion. The cannonball rips through their walls, their hard work, like wet tissue, the rock crumbling into dust in its wake. Wilbur hears screams from inside, and he forces himself to run faster. Up the hill. Around the river. Through the gate. Inside there is a smoking hole and fire and rubble but Wilbur ignores it all. His head whips around frantically, searching for shapes through the thin haze. Someone. Anyone.

“Wilbur!”

Wilbur is following the scream before his mind even comprehends that he's heard it.

“Tommy! Tommy, can you hear me?”

Another cry rings through the air. Wilbur sobs in frustration, his lungs burning.

“Wilbur! I see you!”

He whips around, finally spotting Tommy’s shape through the dust. In an instant, he is by the boy’s side, patting him down for injuries.

“Wilbur, stop. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

Wilbur’s mouth hangs open. “How can you say that? What about my son? And Tubbo? And Eret-”

“They’re okay," Tommy consoles. "They’re hiding in the sewers. Fundy’s hurt, but he’ll live. We’re okay.”

All the tension releases from Wilbur’s body, even as another cannonball blasts through their walls.

“God, Toms… I was so scared.”

Tommy smiles sadly. “I know, Wilbur. But right now we’ve just got to get to safety, okay?”

Wilbur nods, and the two begin stumbling through the debris of their walls. A pain Wilbur hadn’t even noticed pulses through his leg, and he looks down to find blood pouring from his knee. Wilbur stares at it dully, barely even comprehending the injury.

He breathes deep and pushes on. His men need him. After what feels like an eternity, Tommy finds the ladder leading down to the sewers. Immediately, the boy begins to slide down.

He's one peg down the ladder before he feels something harden inside him.

Tommy pauses when he realizes Wilbur isn’t following. “Wil, come on!" he urges. "What are you doing?”

He keeps his expression stiff and posture straight. “Keep going, Tommy. Take care of the others. I’ll be back.”

Tommy tries to protest, but Wilbur holds up his hand. “That’s an order, Toms.” Wilbur turns before he can see Tommy’s reaction, knowing that his resolve would break if he did.

Dream is still just outside the gates when Wilbur returns. The masked king says nothing, only cocking his head in question.

“One hour,” Wilbur says. “At the towers. We will meet you in the fields, but on fair terms.”

Dream pauses, but nods.

They shake on it.

\----

Tommy is waiting for him when Wilbur finally makes it back.

“Wilbur!” he exclaims, running forward. “Holy shit, we've been worried sick! What the hell were you thinking, going back out there-”

Wilbur sighs in resignation, cutting Tommy off. Then he lifts his head high, making eye contact with every scared face in the darkened sewer, and speaks:

“We are going to face Dream and his men in one hour from now. The first battle.” Wilbur lets his voice grow softer. “And… I say this to you not as your leader, but as your friend. Whatever happens, whoever wins or loses, just remember…”

Wilbur’s leg hurts. Blood is soaking into his boots, filling them with the tinny scent of iron. But despite that, despite it all, he smiles.

“We are on the right side of history.”


	3. Premonition

Wilbur has never understood what people meant when they talked about the feeling before a battle. How it was almost worse than the fight itself. How there was nothing to think about other than the possibility that this was it, your first taste of death. It was eating at him, devouring him whole. But he has no choice, he has to be strong - not just for L'manburg, but for it's people. They need someone to guide them, someone to inspire them, _lead_ them through this.

Wilbur puts his face in his hands, not even caring that the grunge of the sewer was smearing across his cheek. He was tired. His uniform felt too hot and tight around his sternum. It constricts him, choking him, suffocating him. He's having a panic attack. He can't _breathe-_

“Wilbur?”

Wilbur starts, his hand instinctively going to where his dagger hung. Flashes of fire and shrapnel and rubble raining from the sky fill his head-

But it's only Eret. His expression, though hidden behind his glasses, betrays concern. Wilbur looks up, putting on a shaky smile. “Eret, hello. Apologies, I was just-”

“Don’t worry about it, Wil,” Eret interrupts. “Everyone’s nervous before a fight. It’s normal, trust me.”

Wilbur frowned. “Have you been in battle before?”

Eret pauses, but nods. “No. In a way,” he explains vaguely. Wilbur doesn’t pursue the question, seeing the tension knotted in Eret’s shoulders. After a pause, the other man sighs into the silence. Then he turns, beginning to walk down the darkened sewer. “Tommy’s waiting for you," he says over his shoulder. "It’s nearly time.”

Wilbur stands with a grunt, his leg still weak from his injury. “Are we ready?” he asks.

Eret throws on a smile. 

“Of course, sir. They don’t stand a chance.”

\----

"Tommy!"

Wilbur's second in command scrambles to his feet, giving a hasty salute.

"Wilbur, sir?" he says, the words tumbling from his mouth.

Wilbur beckons Tommy with a finger, guiding him away from where Tubbo and Fundy were sitting together. The boy follows, though he has to walk twice as fast to keep up with Wilbur's longer legs. Eventually, the two come upon the fallout bunker hidden within the center of the sewers.

"Sit," Wilbur commands as he pulls out a chair. Tommy complies, a nervous glint in his eyes.

"Wilbur, why-" he begins to question, but Wilbur cuts him off.

"We are meeting Dream and his men in battle mere minutes from now," he states. "And - I'm going to tell you something, Tommy. We are probably going to lose."

Tommy is silent.

"I say this not to discourage you," Wilbur continues. "But so you know what's what."

Understanding begins to trickle into Tommy's expression.

"L'manburg isn't a place," Wilbur finishes. "L'manburg is a people. We need to have each other. Do you understand?"

Tommy dips his head. Neither of them smile - not here, not now. But each knows what has passed between them.

Wilbur stands stiffly, tucking his chair back beneath the table.

"Let's go then. It's time."

The sky is a flat grey when Wilbur and his men emerge from the sewers. It dulls the twin craters in their nation, blending the stone of the walls into the stone of the water into the stone of the sky. The shallow pits dealt by Dream's cannons still smoke slightly, coating the grass in a thin layer of soot. 

For now, Wilbur doesn't think about it. The time would come to repair their walls and fill in their land, but that time wasn't now.

The walk to the towers feels so incredibly long. The footsteps of his men are the only sounds in the still, staticky air. Citizens of the SMP watch, silent as shadows, from the empty market streets. Wilbur can hear them talk amongst themselves - whispers of treason, of death, of revolution.

Dream is already waiting for them when they arrive, standing patiently atop one of the towers. Sapnap and George guard his right and left, with another figure just barely visible behind them.

“Um, Wilbur…”

Wilbur glances over his shoulder. Tubbo is staring up at them, fear bright and shining in his eyes. “I think we have a bit of an… um, armor and weapon discrepancy.” 

Wilbur feels his heart dip into his stomach. A shaky glance up at Dream’s team only confirms Tubbo’s fears.

_They’re decked. They’re fucking decked._

Each one of them has netherite armor strapped tight to their forms, enchantments glinting in the weak sun. A symphony of swords, axes, bows, and potions hang from their belts, all carefully crafted and sharpened. It’s a stark contrast to their own gear. A mix of hastily enchanted diamond and half-broken netherite. It’s all they’d been able to scrounge up from their meager supply. Wilbur expects to be scared, but all he feels is a strange calm. He just can’t find it within himself to be afraid.

After the battle, he would cry. After the battle, he would be scared. But right now - L’manburg needs him.

"Gentlemen," Wilbur enunciates, staring each one of them in the eyes. "We-"

But Wilbur doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence because the cloudy gray sky above them is being cut through with a deep, glowing orange. A single arrow flies across the air, fire licking at its shaft. Wilbur can only watch as it plunges into the earth and-

The ground tears open. 

_“RUN!”_

Wilbur screams the order through the ringing in his ears, only able to hope that the others have heard. His feet pound against the roiling earth, barely able to stay ahead of the explosions tearing it apart. Smoke-laden wind buffets against him, curling around his body and dragging tears from his eyes. Screams echo from far and near and it’s all Wilbur can do to just _keep running._

Suddenly, there’s a hand in his own, pulling him through the new landscape of destruction. Wilbur stumbles along, following best he can.

Finally, they pull to a stop. Wilbur falls to the ground, feeling cold, smooth stone against his palms. He wipes the smoke from his eyes, the space around him finally becoming clear.

“Wilbur?”

Tommy’s place. The little cave he’d carved out a living in. Wilbur feels a feeling he couldn’t quite describe clutch at his heart.

“-bur! They set us up! They were ready! What do we do?”

Wilbur jerks his head up at the tremble in Tommy's voice, his eyes focusing acutely on the terror in the other’s faces. 

Fundy, his arms wrapped around his body, claws digging into his sleeves.

Tubbo, crouched in the corner, stiff as a board.

Eret, his fists clenched tight and mouth a thin, white line.

And Tommy. _Tommy._ Anger lines his face, but desperation glows in his eyes.

_Of course they were ready. Dream's no fool._

Wilbur feels his resolve harden. They were _not_ going to give up before they’d even had a _chance._ For freedom, for liberty. We the people, right?

But first…

“Are any of you hurt?” he asks, pulling bandages from his pack. After a pause, Tubbo nods, and presents him with a shiny red burn across his forearm. Wilbur cringes at the sight of it, but pushes through. “Right. Tubbo, I’ll help you. Tommy, I need you to take stock of our arrow supply. We'll shoot at them from here.” Tommy nods, and begins sliding arrows from his quiver. “Fundy, Eret,” Wilbur continues. “I want half-slabs over the windows. We need as much defense as possible.”

Wilbur can hear the thwip of arrows being fired against the walls. Dream knows where they're hiding, and isn't planning on holding back. For now, Wilbur ignores it. Hastily, he wraps a bandage around Tubbo’s arm. He wishes he could do more, but there was nothing else for it. Not now. 

“Tommy, I need that arrow count!” he shouts over his shoulder, desperation wearing his patience thin.

“About a stack, Wilbur,” Tommy replies, holding the bundle of arrows in his hands. 

Wilbur nods. “Right. Tommy, I want you to take half of them. You’re our best shot. Everyone else, take the rest. Fire through the windows, and be _careful.”_

They all scramble to accomplish Wilbur’s orders. Wilbur himself takes a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding in his heart. He turns to the exit of Tommy’s home, watching as more and more arrows rain down from the skies. Grabbing a bow of his own, Wilbur dashes to the slabbed window beside Eret. The two fire in unison, doubling their power. Again and again, volleys of arrows lodge themselves in the hillside, unable to reach them from such a height.

They run out of arrows eventually, but manage to dash out and grab the ones shot by Dream. It's risky, sure, but what choice do they have? Dream had to run out eventually. He had to.

But he never does. Wilbur scowls to himself, nocking another arrow. They'd be stuck in an infinite loop if they kept up like this, neither party able to get in a single hit.

He comes to a quiet decision.

“Tommy, hold your ground. You’re in charge until I get back."

Tommy shouts something after him, but Wilbur is already gone, shooting out into no man's land. He zig-zags through the ruined fields, taking cover behind tree trunks to dodge the barrage of arrows suddenly being sent his way. He puts a hand to his back, pulling out a single arrow from his quiver. He eyes the figures far above him, aiming for the glow of a mask against the sun.

Stance. Nock. Draw. _Shoot._

Wilbur knows the shot's landed when he hears the faint cry of _“Retreat!”_ echo down from the top of the tower. Four silhouettes cut stark shadows against the clouds, grappling down the side of the tower one after the other.

Wilbur stands, dusting himself off. He turns to find his men already waiting, bows in hand.

Tommy looks like he has something to say, but keeps quiet.

“They’re heading to Ponk’s tower,” Wilbur growls. “We’ll need to go to Punz’s if we want to have the advantage.” 

In an instant, the five of them are dashing across the earth, making their way towards the pillar towering against the sky. The urgency filling the air could be cut with a knife.

_If we don’t make it in time, we’re dead._

It was the thought in every one of their minds. Wilbur thinks it must be the fastest he’s ever ran. 

Seconds later, they arrive at the wall barring the tower. It’s a simple task to vault themselves over and make their way inside. The tower itself is immense, but Wilbur doesn’t take the time to admire it. He’s already through the door leading to the stairs, the others hot on his heels. 

“Go up the stairs, all of you," Wilbur orders. "I’ll distract them.”

Tommy opens his mouth, but Fundy gets there first.

“Dad, you can’t do that. You’ve already taken a huge risk, your luck's going to run out sometime,” Fundy pleads, worry pulling at his face.

Wilbur doesn’t look at his son, at any of them.

“That’s an order, men," he hisses. "Go.”

They don’t like it, but they do.

Wilbur runs back outside and towards the wall. Cautiously, he puts a boot against the stone. Finding it to be stable, he climbs his way up. He knows that Dream’s fire is going to be focused on him. His point is proven a second later as he side-steps an arrow. But that was the purpose of being a distraction. Tubbo, Tommy, Fundy, Eret… they wouldn’t be at risk. And, hopefully, Dream would underestimate them.

They’d win the battle like this. It was a sacrifice Wilbur was willing to make.

 _“Wilbur!”_

But apparently not Fundy.

Wilbur spins around, dodging another arrow in the process. 

“Son, get back in that tower, _now.”_ Fundy reels back at the harshness in Wilbur’s voice. _“Go!”_ Wilbur shouts.

“No!” Fundy sobs, his voice cracking. “I wont listen! I'm not gonna leave you, dad!”

Wilbur growls in frustration, pushing Fundy to the side as a volley of arrows comes falling from the heavens. 

“Fundy Soot, this isn’t the time to have a fucking argument!” he shouts. “Go back to where it's safe! Get out of here!”

Suddenly, there’s claws digging into his arm.

“Not. Without. You!" Fundy screams, dragging Wilbur forcefully down. They barely make it in time to dodge another shot from Dream. Fundy's grip on his uniform is hard as stone, leaving no room for an attempt to escape. The fox drags him up the stairs, leading him upwards in sickening spirals. They emerge far, far above the clouds. Tommy shoves a bow into his hands. Wilbur has no choice but to begin firing shot over shot at the opposing tower. Minutes pass. Their supply dwindles. There’s screaming, but not from any of them. Dream’s arrows can’t reach them up here, but Wilbur’s sure as hell can reach Dream’s.

They’ll win the battle like this. Wilbur feels guilt pull at his stomach, even as he gives the order to fire another volley. It had been a stupid, ineffective risk to take. But he'd just wanted to protect them, protect his kid. His friend. His brother.

 _“Retreat!”_ The cry comes echoing up from Ponk’s tower, the voice familiar as it was terrifying. 

Dream. And he was… retreating.

“Stop!” Wilbur cries, sounding nearly hysterical. “They’re... they're gone. They’ve left.”

Tubbo looks up at him, eyes round but bow gripped tightly in his hand. 

“We won,” he says, as if he’s trying to convince himself of it.

“We won,” Wilbur confirms, wondering quietly if this was even real. They'd won, against _Dream._ How? Genuinely, _how?_ Suddenly, there’s cheering. From him, from his people. It was one battle, yes, but it’s more than they'd ever expected to win.

For the first time since the war begun, Wilbur feels hope rise in his chest.


	4. Poppies in the Springtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're weak. It's time.

“Wilbur, I want to talk to you about something.”

Wilbur glances up from the map spread across his desk, finding Tommy standing in the entrance to his room. He could see the boy’s lips tighten at the sight of the bags under his eyes, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“What is it?” Wilbur keeps his response short. Not only had his emotions been stretched to the breaking point and back, he fucking hurt. They all hurt. The cleanup and repair of L’manburg from the cannonfire had taken days, and every last muscle in Wilbur’s body felt it.

“Well…” Tommy continues. “I just… kind of wanted to ask about the battle last week, with Dream… and, um…” Tommy takes a deep breath, seemingly gearing himself up for what he was about to say. “Why, Wilbur? Why did you risk yourself like that? We need you, and you only get so many chances.”

Wilbur looks down at his boots, rubbing a thumb along the seams of his uniform. Tommy waits, unmoving, in the entryway. 

“Tommy, I-”

A hard, clipped knock rings against the door, cutting off Wilbur’s words. Tommy sighs. “I’ll get it.” He leaves, and Wilbur feels the tension drain from his body. He's so exhausted. He wishes, for once, that he could just get some sleep.

Not a minute later, Tommy is back, his face expressionless. “Eret wants to meet with you,” he says in monotone.

Wilbur rubs a fist against his eye, flinching slightly as pain throbs in his sore muscles. He'd been putting the finishing touches on their newly repaired walls all day today, and he sure felt it.

“Bring them in,” he orders quietly.

Tommy steps to the side, allowing Eret to enter the room. The man stands tall, his back straight and hair flawlessly pushed to the side. A small smile pulls at his lips. Wilbur finds himself feeling a bit jealous of how put together he was,

“General Soot,” Eret enunciates, his voice ringing through the half-lit room. “I bring good news for our nation.”

Wilbur looks up wearily. His interest is piqued, yes, but he can’t quite make his body show it.

“Continue,” he says.

Eret paces slowly to Wilbur’s side, ghosting a hand over the map laid across the desk. “Ever since you started this great nation,” he begins. “I have known that it won’t be easy for us.”

Wilbur nods along, wondering where Eret is going with this.

“Already, we have faced many challenges, only barely making it by.” Eret’s voice turns somber, his head lowering.

“But…” he says, a half-moon smile on his face. “What if I told you that each hour I have spent outside this nation was used collecting everything we’d need to _win?”_

Wilbur stares, not quite understanding the word coming from Eret’s mouth.

“I… don’t understand. What do you mean?”

Eret’s teeth flash in the dim light. 

“Here,” he says, pointing to a spot on the map. “Is L’manburg.” Eret’s finger then traces down, lining a path against the parchment. “And here - here, is where a bunker is. Weapons, armor, potions - everything we’d ever need, kept safe within our walls.”

Wilbur gapes. “I- Eret, I… why didn’t you tell me about this? We could’ve used it in the battle! I mean- it’s amazing, but I don’t understand…”

Eret holds up a placating hand. “Don’t worry about it, General. You’ll understand everything soon enough. Now, would you care to follow me?”

Wilbur stands, feeling like he’s walking through honey. A bunker. A secret fucking bunker with everything they need. Joy and shock rise up within Wilbur in equal amounts as he follows Eret wordlessly into the outdoors. Tommy is still waiting just beyond the house, a confused frown alighting his face at the sight of Wilbur’s expression.

Tommy follows them nonetheless. 

Tubbo and Fundy are soon collected as well, trailing after the trio in confusion. Wilbur says nothing, though- he’s feeling rather the same.

Eventually, Eret halts before a skinny cave dug through the hillside. The sides are lined with chipped blackstone, illuminated only by the blue fire of soul torches. Eret turns to face them, his glasses shining white in the sun.

“Here we are, boys. The final control room. No more fear, no more fights. We can end this war before anyone is hurt.”

The surety laced through Eret’s voice brings a hopeful smile to Wilbur’s face. How could it not? Eret’s charisma was one of the things that had kept Wilbur going. He still held fond memories of him cooking for Fundy when the fox was little. 

Wilbur takes a second to glance over his shoulder, searching his men’s expressions. His eyes widen. 

It was like a fire had been lit in their gaze - a burning determination Wilbur has never seen the likes of before.

The end of the war after only a month. Their freedom, their independence - all within this tunnel. 

Wilbur turns back, staring deep into the darkened pit of the bunker. Almost nervously, he takes a step inside. Then another. Then another. Soon, he is all but running, his men’s feet pounding just behind him, the thunder of each footfall like music to his ears.

The end of the war. _The end of the war._

The tunnel begins to widen, and Wilbur slows his run to a walk. The hope in the air is palpable. The end of the war before any death. One more step takes him to a sturdy oak door. The only thing barring them from victory.

Everyone holds their breath as Wilbur eases it open.

Chests line the walls, each of their names carved into signs just above each one. 

“Eret - I don’t know what to say,” Tubbo gasps from behind him. Wilbur can’t help but agree. Almost in awe, he approaches the chest with his name on it. Victory, held inside a single wooden box.

Wilbur opens it.

It is empty.

Wilbur stares, not comprehending the images that were being sent to his brain. Why was it empty? Had Dream gotten here before them?

“Eret, there’s… nothing in the chests.”

“I know.”

Wilbur looks at Eret in shock. He’s smiling, each tooth glinting in the torchlight. 

Wilbur feels his stomach drop at the sight.

A cacophony of voices rise up from his men at Eret’s response, asking questions, demanding answers, begging to know what was going on.

Eret laughs, and it is cold.

_For L'manburg, the people. For trust._

“Down with the revolution, boys,” he hisses. _“It was never meant to be.”_

A press of a button, and the walls are sliding open with a deafening screech. Figures pour from the holes, swords in hand. His men are screaming (he is screaming?) They are running, desperately scrambling away from the blades slicing through the air. Wilbur feels a hand grasp his uniform, tearing him away from the exit. A sword stabs through his chest, sending white hot agony lancing through his flesh. Wilbur screams and screams and still he cannot hear himself because everything is dark and quiet. Fundy is begging for them to let him go. Then he is screaming begging dying too. Tubbo is whimpering from somewhere in the darkness. A wet _schlink_ echos through the room.

He isn’t whimpering anymore.

Wilbur doesn’t hear Tommy, but he doesn’t let himself think about it too hard about the implications because there is white porcelain before his eyes and a smile as dark as the room around him and a laugh that makes his toes curl. 

Dream takes everything he has. His dagger, his sword, the maps and potions tucked into his belt, and the hope that the war would ever be won.

Everything.

Then Dream is gone, and the only noise is the _plink_ of copper blood pouring from his veins. 

Wilbur doesn’t know how long he lays there, damp soaking into his clothes. Forever, maybe, though perhaps only minutes. He’s not sure - everything keeps fading in and out, his awareness flowing away with the blood from his shoulder. In the back of his mind, Wilbur knows he should be feeling pain. He was just stabbed. But somewhere along the line, the message was lost, and all Wilbur can feel is _cold._ His flesh, his bones, his skin - it’s all just cold.

**You were slain trying to escape Punz. 2/3 lives remaining. Would you like to respawn?**

**> [Yes]<  
>No**

And then, suddenly, there is warmth. 

Wilbur wants to give up, he wants to just let it be over. But he can’t. Fundy, Tubbo, Tommy - they still need him. So he latches onto the feeling, letting it anchor him within the ocean of cold.

Slowly, Wilbur can feel himself drift back to shore. A flash of blue torchlight here, the clipped end of a word there…

“-bur? Wilbur, can you hear me? Gods, please wake up, _please-”_

“...Tommy…?”

Wilbur’s voice is raw and scratchy, each syllable grinding past his throat with a painful throb. 

“Wilbur? Oh my god- h-holy shit, you’re back- I…”

Tommy chokes out a sob. “I thought you wouldn't come back.”

Wilbur opens his eyes, and Tommy’s face is the first thing he sees. Wilbur smiles weakly at the boy. Despite the blood dripping down Tommy's forehead and clotted in his hair, despite the tears in his uniform and the dullness in his eyes, Wilbur feels comforted.

“I’d never leave you, Toms,” he manages to scrape out. Tommy’s hysteria stills very suddenly, his eyes wide and staring.

Then Tommy is crying, and Wilbur is crying too. Everything is falling apart - the meaning of their war, their nation - but in the end of it all, he still has his brother.

Some amount of time later, Tommy dries the tears from his eyes.

“I, um… I checked on Tubbo and Fundy, before I… but, uh, they’re okay. Just unconscious. I'm... I'm pretty sure we all lost a life though... I-" A small hiccup escapes Tommy’s lips, and he stops talking.

Wilbur's heart drops. They'd all lost a life. _All_ of them. Tubbo had died. His brother had died. His _son_ had died.

It's nearly enough to break him right there and then.

“Wilbur?” Tommy chokes, the sound small and fearful.

“...Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

Wilbur pulls his brother in, wrapping him close to his chest.

“Me too, Tommy. Me too.”

\----

"You've done well, Eret."

"Thank you."

"Now, as promised..."

Something passes hand to hand. 

"Your crown, King Eret."

The brown-haired man nods. "It's been a pleasure, Dream."

Eret settles the crown upon his head with a smile.


	5. Interlude: For Schlatt

“C’mon, Tommy. It’s just a bit farther, you can make it…”

Wilbur gives the boy his best smile. It hurts. Someone behind him sobs - whether it’s Tubbo or Fundy, Wilbur can’t tell.

He keeps going. It’s all he can do. Step after excruciating step, the light in the distance begins to grow closer. Wilbur’s limbs are leaden, his mind slow and emotions numb.

_We were winning._

_We were_ winning.

Wilbur feels his eyes prickle, but nothing springs forth. There were no more tears left for him to cry. He’d thought he’d been tired after the fire, after training for days, after the battle, after building and rebuilding their walls - but that had been nothing compared to this. 

For a moment, Wilbur wonders where he’d be if he’d never started this. In Newfoundland with Dad, in Antarctica with Techno, in whatever remained of his old travels?

...How had this started, anyways? They’d all been friends, once, in a way. Just people among people, making a living somewhere safe. But then there were the disks, and Tommy, and Dream and...

Schlatt.

Wilbur remembers Schlatt well, although sometimes he wishes he didn't. The sound of his laugh echoes in his ears every time he thinks of the man. It hurts. Gods, it hurts. Schlatt was funny and kind and sarcastic, but most of all he cared. He cared in every way possible. Wilbur knows that for a fact.

He'd been banished. Citizenship stripped, a promise of death waiting on either side of the borders. What freedom was that? What justice?

Once, Schlatt has brought him to a simple cobblestone shed. He'd laughed at the sight of it, his eyes many miles away. Then he had turned to Wilbur, a sad smile adorning his face.

_"Do you remember this, Wil?"_ He had asked, brushing a palm against the stone. 

Wilbur had frowned, and shook his head. 

Schlatt turned back to the structure, sharp sunlight glinting off of finely carved horns. 

_"Ah, don't worry about it. It was a while ago. This is a new beginning. Make the most of it, yeah?”_

Wilbur hadn't known what to say, but in the end it hadn't mattered. Schlatt was gone by the next day, leaving only the memory of his shadow in the sun.

What would Schlatt have done? Give up? Cut his losses? Risk everything and keep going?

Wilbur sighs, and takes another painful step. He doesn't know. He just doesn't know.


	6. Oyasumi, taiyō

“Wilbur, please stop… I need to rest.”

Wilbur can barely hear the weak rasp of Tubbo’s voice. The sound of it constricts his heart, though his face remains solemn. Regardless, Wilbur halts, sliding down the gritty blackstone walls without a word. The others are soon to follow, each collapsing upon the floor like ragdolls. Minutes pass. None of them move.

Wilbur starts when Tommy scoffs to himself. He glances up at the boy, a question in his eyes.

“I swear,” the boy grumbles. “Eret must’ve made this tunnel longer while we were bleeding out in that hole.”

Wilbur laughs, surprising himself. Then he puts a hand to his neck, flinching at the pain lancing through his throat. “I wouldn’t put it past the bastard,” he manages to reply.

Bastard. Snake. Traitor.

The silence swoops in once again.

Wilbur sighs, then lets his eyelids slip shut. Gods, he was tired… maybe he’d just rest for a moment.

_Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that._

\----

Some amount of time later, Wilbur wakes.

The others are gone.

Though his muscles scream at him in protest, Wilbur scrambles to his feet. It’s hard to see in the dim blue light, but he can spot dark liquid smeared across the walls and pooling on the floor-

Wilbur feels bile rise in his throat. He takes a step, but stumbles, falling to stone slick with blood. It splashes onto his uniform, staining the fabric a deep copper-brown.

_Tommy. Tubbo. Fundy. Eret. I need to find them._

A whimper pushes past his lips as Wilbur drags himself forward, but he keeps going. Pull by excruciating pull, the light in the distance grows closer.

His hands are torn and ragged when they finally land upon grass, but he doesn’t care - he’s made it, and the others couldn’t have gone far.

Wilbur pushes himself to his feet, only to his knees again, gagging and retching until the green grass beneath him is stained red. Each blade, once so soft against his ruined hands, now feels like a thousand knives each piercing him to the bone.

_Tommy. Tubbo. Fundy. Eret._

Their names repeat endlessly inside Wilbur’s head. 

_It’s worth it, for them. For them._

Wilbur stands, the action suddenly effortless. He’s walking. Running. Sprinting. Everything is dark and far away. 

“Wilbur?”

He’s stopped, though he doesn’t remember making the choice to. 

“...Tommy?”

“Wilbur, where are you?” 

Wilbur looks around, only to find he doesn’t know. Grass stretches for miles, dark against the setting sun.

“Uh, I’m… not sure, Tommy!” Wilbur shouts. “B-but I’m coming! Are the others with you? Are any of you hurt?”

“Wilbur?” Tommy repeats, voice flat.

“Tommy!” Wilbur shouts again, growing desperate. “I can hear you! I’m coming! P-please, I’m… I’m coming-”

“No, you’re not.”

Wilbur trips, falling to the ground with a heavy thud. “I _am.”_ He sobs into the grass. “I am. I- I just don’t know where you are... you have t-to _tell me-”_

He’s so tired. The ground falls out beneath him. Everything is cold and dark and it’s all so quiet.

“Wilbur.”

He looks up, the simple action as hard as lifting a mountain. Deep brown meets piercing white.

“Eret?” Wilbur asks, though he finds he cannot hear himself.

“Wilbur,” Eret repeats. “Wilbur.”

Warm arms wrap around Wilbur’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“It’s okay, Wilbur.”

Wilbur’s breath hitches as more tears pour forth from his eyes. His shoulders tremble violently, each muscle wracked with the force of his sobs. Eret holds him tight through it all, rubbing comforting circles against his back.

“Shh,” he whispers. “It’s okay, Wilbur. It’s okay.”

“I left them behind-” Wilbur chokes out. “My people. My L'manburg. They’re gone. Dead. I should’ve never-”

“Wilbur.”

Eret is looking at him. Wilbur finds himself lost in the glow of the other’s eyes. 

“They love you, Wilbur,” he says, a sad smile pulling at his face. “Fundy, Tubbo, Tommy - every one of them looks up to you. You inspire them. Whatever happens-”

Eret cups Wilbur’s hands in his own, seeping warmth into Wilbur’s cold and clammy skin.

“-They’ll love you regardless, because you’ve given them more than they could ever dream of having. Patience. Safety. Hope.”

Eret stands, pulling Wilbur up with him.

“Their lives are better because of you, no matter how it ends.”

Wilbur rubs a palm against his eye, wiping away tears.

“T-thank you, Eret.”

Silence.

“...I did it for you too, you know,” Wilbur rasps. “You were my best friend. I fought with you. Looked up to you, even.”

Eret smiles sadly.

“I know, Wilbur. I know.”

A choked sound escapes his lips, bringing fresh tears to his eyes. “So why’d you do it?” he whispers.

Eret hugs him again, running comforting fingers through his hair. Wilbur feels like a kid again.

“Wake up, Wilbur,” Eret murmurs into his ear. “Wake up.”

Everything goes dark.

\----

There are hands on his shoulders when Wilbur finally drifts into consciousness. For a second, the image of Eret’s arms pulling him close flashes through his mind.

Wilbur quickly shoves it away, locking it deep in the back of his mind where he’d never have to think about it again.

“You up, Wilbur?”

Wilbur nods sleepily. “Jus’ gimme a sec,” he slurs. The hands pull away, and Wilbur finds himself missing them. 

_Get up,_ he scolds himself. _The others are waiting on you._

The sunlight is nearly too much when Wilbur cracks his eyes open. He flinches back, instinctively squeezing them shut once more. The blackness soothes him, pulling him back to a distant world.

“Wilbur, we’ve got to get going.”

Tommy’s voice. Wilbur smiles slightly. His second in command, taking charge.

Soft hands help him to his feet. Wilbur walks, though the sensation of it isn’t quite registering. 

“Wilbur.”

He isn’t sure who’s speaking. Everything is blending together. The sunlight, The leaves in the wind. The shadows of the redwood trees. It’s all the same.

“Wilbur, please.”

He’s falling. Or maybe not.

“You have to wake up.”

\----

Wilbur snaps into awareness. His eyes flash over every surface in a panic - searching for something, anything. Though what, specifically, he isn’t quite sure.

But there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Tubbo and Tommy are curled around each other, carefully positioned so that their injuries wouldn’t chafe. Fundy is stretched out across the floor, his muzzle hidden in his paws. Eret is nowhere to be seen, of course.

Wilbur knows he should feel grateful for the small mercy, but instead he doesn’t feel much of anything at all.

Wilbur sighs to himself, choosing not to reflect on that train of thought. He’ll need to wake the others soon. Their injuries needed to be treated. They need to figure out what to do, if there was anything they _could_ do.

Wilbur stares at the sunlight waiting for them at the end of the tunnel. It doesn’t seem so far away anymore. For a moment, he wonders what waits beyond it. Certain death, most likely. As if they hadn't just been slaughtered once. Whatever it is, Wilbur takes comfort in knowing that he’d done his best. Tommy, Tubbo, Fundy… Eret. He’d done his best for all for them, and it wasn’t enough.

Wilbur fiddles with the hem of his sleeve, pulling at a loose thread.

“...Tommy?” The boy doesn’t wake, and Wilbur can’t bring himself to try again. Sighing, he lets his head fall back against the wall. He’d let them sleep a few minutes longer.

It was the least he could do.


	7. The Long Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm sorry in advance lmao

Wilbur places a hand on Fundy’s shoulder, gently shaking his son out of sleep’s grasp. Lethargically, he blinks his eyes open, rubbing away the last remains of his rest.

“Dad?” Fundy asks slowly. “What’s…”

Fundy trails off as his eyes drift to the pile that is Tubbo and Tommy. A smile pulls weakly at his face, though it looks like it pains him.

“That’s adorable,” he murmurs. 

Wilbur nods. "Yeah."

Fundy stares at him dully, bared teeth a silent indicator of the agony his wounds were still causing him. "What do we do?" He murmurs, barely audible even in the deathly silence.

Wilbur bites his lip, looking away. Tears begin to sparkle in Fundy’s eyes at his silence. 

Wilbur wants to comfort him, tell him that everything’s going to be okay, that they’re going to win. But Fundy wasn’t stupid, and he has no words for his son that wouldn’t be a blatant lie.

“We should wake Tommy and Tubbo,” is all he says, the sentence flat and pathetic in the face of Fundy’s insurmountable question.

Wilbur proceeds to do just that, unable to look in his son's eyes a second longer.

The two boys rouse slowly. Tubbo had managed to upset his wound during his slumber, so he was reluctant to move much. But with a few encouraging words from Tommy, he was back on his feet. Wilbur takes a look into each of their eyes. He can hardly believe that barely an hour earlier, they had been sparkling with hope and determination, stoked by the promise of victory.

He quickly turns away and starts walking, doing his best not to think about anything at all.

\----

The blinding sunlight at the end of the tunnel approaches all too quickly. Looking back, Wilbur realizes that the tunnel itself wasn’t even that long - maybe sixty meters, at least. They had just been going… _slower_ than Wilbur had first thought. He doesn’t give himself time to reflect on the implications.

Finally, after what felt like miles of agonizing walking, of pushing through the pain until there were tears in his eyes, of collapsing to cold, wet brick again and again - they make it out.

For the first few seconds, all Wilbur can see is white. The pain is blinding, and although it fades with time, it is no less excruciating. After nearly twenty seconds, Wilbur wipes his eyes, brushing away tears of pain. He glances over his shoulder, making sure the rest of his people are still on their feet.

They are. Barely. Wilbur turns back, facing the land they have claimed as their own. 

It happens too fast for him to comprehend. A chuckle, then a flash of gold, and then...

“Eret…?”

Tubbo’s voice is barely a whisper, but it rings out like a bell.

Clear as day, Eret is standing before them, a sparkling crown seated snugly against his head. His sunglasses dangle loosely in his hands, revealing eyes as white and shining as the smile on his face.

“Took you long enough,” he drawls. “I’ve been waiting here for ages.”

A million emotions rush through Wilbur all at once. Pain. Betrayal. Guilt. Regret. Anger. Sadness... and a strange bittersweet he can’t quite put his finger on.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD, ERET! I AM GOING TO RIP YOUR GODDAMN MICRO-COCK RIGHT OFF YOUR SCUMMY LITTLE BODY, YOU LYING, TRAITOROUS FUCK-”

Wilbur flinches back from the flood of hateful words pouring from Tommy’s mouth, the sudden noise too much for his sensitive ears to handle.

“Tommy-”

His words are barely even a pebble against the avalanche. Wilbur glances up at Eret. His posture is languid, like a cat basking in sunlight. He doesn’t look like he’s very battle-ready, so Wilbur just lets Tommy get it out. It wasn’t like he didn’t feel the same.

“-I FUCKING TRUSTED YOU!” Tommy screams. “YOU WERE MY FRIEND! _OUR_ FRIEND! YOU DISGUSTING PIECE OF SHIT! God fucking _dammit-_ I mean this in the nicest way possible, you _fucked up,_ Eret. _You. Fucked. Up-!”_

Tommy takes a deep breath, ending in a groan of pain. Red is seeping through his uniform again, draining the life from his veins.

“Tubbo,” Wilbur murmurs. The boy nods in understanding, gently guiding Tommy away from the group, despite his violent protests.

Tubbo glances back only once.

"He's right, Eret."

Eret laughs, completely unaffected by Tommy's hatred or Tubbo's crushed despair.

“Damn, never realized ol’ Tomathy had such a dirty mouth,” he chuckles. “He really does make a great second in command, doesn’t he?”

Wilbur bites his lip so hard it bleeds. “Get. Out,” he hisses, voice dangerously low.

Eret picks at some non-existent dirt beneath his fingernails. “Hmm… Yeah, no - I don’t think I will!” he hums cheerily. “Actually...” he continues, looking up at Wilbur with mock surprise. “I think there was something I wanted to tell you! Now, what was it… Oh, I remember-”

Eret strides forward until his blank white eyes are face to face with Wilbur’s. There’s a weakly hidden snarl on his face, contrasted sharply by his tone of voice. “I know every plan you’ve made,” he snarls. “Every secret stash, every trick you’re hiding up your dirty bluecoat sleeves - and now Dream does too.”

Eret shoves Wilbur backwards, forcefully sending him stumbling into Fundy. Tommy shouts from somewhere in the distance. “So give up, _William._ You’ve lost. It’s over.”

Wilbur opens his mouth, but Fundy gets there before him.

“Eret…” he says, voice soft but audible. “...How could you?”

Fundy's voice breaks on the last word, and Wilbur’s heart breaks with it. Looking back at Eret, Wilbur is surprised to see him without a cocky quip to crush Fundy's plea. Instead, he’s just… looking at him.

A second later, and the moment has passed.

“It’s just business, sunshine,” Eret croons, his voice sickly sweet. “You’ve lost.”

Wilbur says nothing. Eret shows a few more teeth, satisfied with his pitch. “Farewell then, gentlemen,” he says, turning his back on them. “It's been a pleasure serving you.”

Eret vanishes, gone in the throw of a pearl and a shower of purple dust. Then there is nothing.

Wilbur feels empty. Every gust of wind against his skin is painless. Each tear is numb against his cheeks. Someone is speaking to him. He doesn’t listen.

Their golden apples. Gone. Healing potions. Gone. Maps, weapons, armor. Gone.

_We have nothing._

“I… I know, Wilbur, but we’ve got to keep trying-”

Wilbur jolts with the realization that he’s spoken aloud. He’s inside, somewhere. The Camarvan. Ransacked. Useless. Their bandages are gone. Tommy improvises with strips of old dishtowels.

 _You’re the leader,_ his mind hisses to him. _So why is Tommy the one helping everyone?_

_I’m sorry. I can’t do this._

“Tommy,” Wilbur says, forcing his mind into clarity. 

Tommy looks up from his work, eyes red and bloodshot. “Yeah?”

“I…” Wilbur trails off, looking down.

“Nevermind.”

Tommy nods, having no energy to wonder what Wilbur was going to say.

Wilbur’s eyes flit to Fundy and Tubbo, both lying upon the floor. They’re staring blankly at the wall, eyes dull. With a vague curiosity, Wilbur follows their line of sight. He regrets it almost immediately as his gaze falls upon a parchment, framed upon the wall.

Their Declaration of Independance. Signed by a traitor.

Wilbur gazes at it for what feels like hours, memorizing the dips and curves of Eret’s signature. He probably could have forged the damn thing by the time Tommy was done with his bandages.

Wilbur scowls to himself, not realizing the attention of his people had shifted.

“Um...”

Wilbur starts, wheeling around. He’d been so lost in his mind he’d nearly forgotten the presence of the others. It was Fundy who’d spoken. His eyes were wide and damp, the question Wilbur knew was coming sparkling in his copper gaze.

“Wilbur… what do we do?”

Hopelessness was a funny thing. From a logical perspective, the presence or absence of hope shouldn’t affect an individual’s physical output in any meaningful way. But of course, people were people. And in a horrible, beautiful way, hope could mean the difference between failure and success.

_”I want to see white flags, outside your base, by tomorrow, at dawn, or you are dead!”_

_“Down with the revolution. It was never meant to be.”_

_“You’ve lost. Give up._

“I…”

Wilbur licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. The tension in the air grows ever thicker.

_Laughter. An arm around his shoulder._

_“...Chin up, Wilbur…”_

“I’m going to convene with Dream,” Wilbur finally manages to push out. “To… to discuss… our terms of surrender.”

Wilbur expects to hear protests, but there is only silence. More than a month of work and war for nothing

“I’m sorry, everyone,” he whispers, letting his last drop of hope trickle away.

“We did our best.”


	8. Singularity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chap this time, but no less important ;)

Wilbur wonders if there was anything he could have done differently. A shot he hadn’t missed, perhaps. Or a play he hadn’t made. Maybe, if he’d worked harder, maybe if he planned more and was smarter and saw the signs… But of course, it was too late, wasn’t it? Wilbur had fucked up the moment he set foot inside Dream’s kingdom. Everything he’d done - to Tommy, Tubbo, to his son - he’d brought upon himself.

And so it was. L’manburg’s walls fall behind him as he makes the long walk to Dream, ready to announce L'manburg's surrender. Each step he takes feels heavy and slow. It gives Wilbur time to think. 

Too much time.

_Months ago, though it feels like longer. Their walls are unmade, and the silky grass still long and untrodden._

_“It’s the perfect spot, Wilbur. An excellent choice.”_

He couldn’t have known, right? Right…?

_“Thank you, Eret.”_

Had he been a traitor, even then? Had he always been? Or was he simply not enough?

Had he ever been enough…?

_Stop._

Always making the wrong choices, always pushing further than he deserved, never satisfied with what he had. For Tommy, he’d told himself. For Fundy and Tubbo and everyone who desired tranquility in Dream's tumultuous kingdom. 

_But why did you do it, really? What do you want?_

Wilbur’s feet stop moving of their own accord, knowing that he had made it before Wilbur himself did. He looks up, confused. Dream’s base wasn’t for at least ten more minutes…

It was Tommy’s place. Arrows are still lodged in the walls from their skirmish, weeks ago.

A shadow that doesn’t belong stretches out from inside.

“General Soot.”

For once, Wilbur doesn’t feel the familiar pang of anger at the sound of Dream’s voice. It was like every feeling had been sucked out of him, gone with the person he’d thought he knew. “Dream,” Wilbur replies, resignation lying heavy on his voice.

Dream emerges into the day, sunlight glinting brightly off his smiling mask. “Why are you here?” he asks, a curious lilt to his tone. “I would think you’d be mighty busy, running a nation and all.”

They stand in silence for what feels like centuries.

“...Why?” Wilbur asks, barely a whisper above the wind.

Dream cocks his head. “I don’t know what you mean, Soot.”

A spark of that old, familiar anger lights in Wilbur’s stomach - just for a moment, before dying out.

“Using our own against us is a dishonorable strategy,” Wilbur says. “I wouldn’t have thought that one such as yourself would employ it.”

Dream laughs lightly, his hair dancing in the breeze. “All is fair in war,” he hums. “Now, would you care to tell me why you’re here?”

Wilbur scowls. “Like you don’t know.”

Dream laughs again, crueler this time. “I want to hear you say it.”

Wilbur sighs heavily.

“We’ve both suffered great losses, my side… a little more, but we’ve both suffered.”

Dream’s mouth twitches in amusement. He's enjoying this. Wilbur clenches his fists tight, forcibly pushing each word past his throat.

“Look, Dream,” he continues. “I never wanted war, or bloodshed. All I ever wanted was freedom. But now, that possibility is looking… dim. So I’ve come here, to you, to discuss… terms.”

Dream steps closer. “Terms of what, Soot?”

 _Give up,_ were Dream’s unspoken words.

“I-”

“Wilbur!”

Wilbur stiffens, whirling around. Sure enough, it’s none other than his second in command, climbing the hill to where the two stand at breakneck speed.

“Wilbur…” Tommy huffs, finally coming to a stop. “You can’t. I… please-”

“Tommy.” Wilbur’s voice is hard. “Leave.”

Dream watches silently, ever observant.

“But- Wil-”

“You are dismissed, Tommy.”

“No! Dream, you son of a bitch, I-”

 _“Tommy!”_ Wilbur barks. _“You. Are. Dismissed.”_

Tommy flinches back, but Wilbur doesn’t give himself time to feel bad.

“Go, Toms. That’s an order.”

Tommy gives a stiff, jerky nod. Then he is gone.

Wilbur turns back to Dream. As always, his mask hides his true expression, but Wilbur is positive that if he could see beneath it Dream would be grinning in amusement. 

“I’m sorry about that, Dream,” Wilbur apologizes, hating every syllable. 

Dream hums, thinking. 

“You sure say a lot of words, Soot,” he says. “How about I give you some of mine?”

Dream leans in, closing the distance between them inch by inch.

“I’m sick of playing along with your little revolution,” he snarls. “Eret has taken everything you had and shared every plan you’ve made. You’ve lost, and you know it. That’s why you’re here. So just say the words, put up your flags, and we can leave all of this behind. No trouble, no charges. Okay?”

For a moment, Wilbur is going to. It’s what he came here to do. He’d practiced the words to himself a thousand times, knowing they might be some of the last he ever says.

_I surrender._

It’d be so easy. Giving up is always easy. Losing is easy. Failing is easy.

_Dying is easy._

But Tommy had come to stop him at the last second, simply because of a desperate, fleeting hope. He knew it was over. Knew they’d lost. But even at the end of it all, he couldn’t bring himself to give in.

_Living is harder._

“No.”

Dream goes very still.

“What?” he hisses.

“I said no,” Wilbur repeats, standing taller. “We aren't finished yet, Dream.”

Dream places a hand on the hilt of his sword. Wilbur braces himself to run, but-

Dream’s hand falls away.

“Thirty minutes, Soot,” he says in monotone. “You have thirty minutes to change your mind, or we are going to destroy everything you’ve built for, once and for all.”

Wilbur believes him, but he isn’t scared. The loss he’s suffered already - Eret’s betrayal, nearly losing his family, feeling each drop of hope dripping away - it’s set the bar higher than Dream can reach.

“We’ll be waiting,” Wilbur says. Then he leaves, the image of a boy in blue and the taste of a name on his tongue following him all the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for you, kaden


	9. Ozymandias, King of Kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... really, really sorry

Wilbur wasn’t sure what to expect when he finally returns to L’manburg, but it certainly wasn’t Tubbo, Tommy, and Fundy all stood in a line, looking stiffer than a brick wall. Wilbur blinks, utterly confused at the sight.

“General Soot, sir,” Fundy says, sounding more formal than Wilbur thinks he ever has. “We request that you retract your offer of surrender to Dream. It is in confidence that I say we can still win-”

Wilbur holds up a hand, shaking his head slightly. “Son, what-”

Tubbo steps in before Wilbur can continue. “Sir, we’re begging you. We’re stronger than Dream! I know it!”

“It’s not too late,” Tommy pleads. “We can win.”

Wilbur laughs breathily. “Guys, just stop for a moment. What’s this all about?”

All three of them begin to talk over each other in a jumbled torrent of speech.

“Tommy told us we need to keep fighting, Wilbur-!”

“We can’t give up now, we-”

“Everything we’ve worked for-”

_Ah._

“I didn’t surrender, Tommy,” Wilbur says, cutting all three of them off.

Silence. Then…

“What?” Tommy says, baffled. Wilbur ruffles his hair with a hand, looking down at his boots. “...You inspired me, Tommy. I couldn’t give up after your - ah, display.”

Tommy blushes deeply, both from pride and embarrassment. “I- wow. Um, thank you, Wilbur.”

 _The clock is still ticking,_ Wilbur’s mind hisses to him. _What will you do now?_

“Hey… are you alright?” Fundy queries nervously. “You, um… look a little pale, Dad.”

Wilbur clenches his fists, letting his nails dig into his palms.

“I-” he starts. “Dream…”

Tommy’s expression goes hard. “What did he do, Wilbur?”

Wilbur grimaces. “...I’m afraid he didn’t take it very well.”

Tubbo’s expression morphs from joy to fear. “What… what does that mean?”

Birds chirp from the redwood trees, the scent of pine dancing on the wind. It seems so peaceful. “We have thirty minutes to surrender,” Wilbur murmurs. “Twenty by now. Then he comes for us personally.”

_You’re leading these men to their deaths. How can you possibly justify that?_

_It’s Dream who’s going to kill them._

_You’re letting him._

A hand presses down on his shoulder, and Wilbur snaps out of his thoughts. Tommy is staring directly at him, fire blazing in his eyes. “We’re with you, Wilbur,” he growls. “All the way. We’ll fight to our last breath.”

A chorus of agreements rise up from Tubbo and Fundy, pledging their lives to Wilbur’s cause.

_This isn’t just what I want. It’s what they want._

Wilbur smiles, feeling the fear in his throat melt away.

“Then let’s show that green bastard who’s boss.”

\----

The sun inches across the blinding blue sky, slowly marking down the seconds to their final stand. There’s no preparation to be had - everything they might’ve once used was burned by now. They’d crafted axes from nothing more than the stone beneath them, but that was as much as they could manage. Now, it all came down to luck. A critical hit here, a swing at the knees there, and they could win.

Was it probably impossible? Yes. But what choice did he have?

When the time finally came, Dream made no effort to hide his approach. Each step was calculated and deadly, making his intentions blindingly clear. “General Soot,” he says, cold and flat like the day the war had begun. 

“Dream,” Wilbur replies, equally toned. Sapnap, Punz and George stare at him from just behind Dream, but Wilbur isn’t intimidated. Fundy, Tubbo and Tommy were staring daggers as well.

Dream tilts his head curiously. “Well, here we are. It’s time to return to my SMP, Soot. This has gone on long enough.”

Wilbur laughs, surprising even himself. He stalks up to Dream, standing tall. Words flow from his mouth as if he’d practiced them a thousand times.

“Independence, or death,” he announces, voice resounding off of their walls. “If we get no revolution, then we want _nothing._ We’d rather die than join you and your SMP.”

A shadow falls across Dream’s mask. “You’ve made a mistake, Soot,” he breathes. Wilbur readies his axe, preparing for the worst. But Dream doesn't unsheathe his axe or dive in for the kill. He doesn't even move. All he does is hold out his hand. Sapnap hands Dream a single stick of TNT. Just one. 

“If you don’t surrender now, I will destroy everything you love,” Dream threatens.

Wilbur, confounded, nearly laughs. “With what?” he says snidely. “That? Sure - go on then. Do it.”

“Yeah!” Tubbo joins in. “Do it Dream!”

“Light it,” Fundy dares.

Tommy grins. “Give us everything you’ve got,”

Now, maybe, if Wilbur had paid attention, he would’ve seen the slight smile that had crossed Sapnap’s face, or perhaps the increase in tension within George’s shoulders. But his eyes were on the fuse, watching the sparks dance down, down, down…

Dream plunges the TNT into the earth, seconds before it goes off.

“I hope you’re proud,” he murmurs, almost sounding sad.

Almost.

The stick ignites, sending earth flying in every direction. Wilbur puts an arm over his face to protect his eyes, but in the end he knew the strength of a single stick was incredibly limited. None of them would even be grazed. The dust settles. Wilbur glances over his shoulder. He knew his men would be okay, but it didn’t hurt to check. Sure enough, each of them stand tall and strong, confidence sparkling in their eyes. Wilbur smiles at them, giving a reassuring nod. 

Dream had vanished in the noise of the explosion, so Wilbur deems it safe enough to inspect the dent in their land. Maybe four feet wide, and two deep, smelling of used gunpowder. Wilbur crouches down to take a closer look. He notices something odd, though... a faint hissing. Kind of. Maybe?

“Hey Fundy, come here.”

The fox frowns, confused, but walks to Wilbur’s side regardless. “Your ears are better than mine,” Wilbur continues. “Can you hear that?” Fundy leans in closer, his ears twitching. 

He goes very still very quickly.

_“Run.”_

The earth tears open.

A scream rips its way out of Wilbur’s throat but it is lost in the chaos. Everything is moving and there is pain in his arm and in his shoulder and every second the agony grows ever hotter. He’s in the air and then he’s not and then the cycle repeats. His eyes burn as they are cut by smoke and fire and dry, cold soil. His ears ring, ring, ring…

Faintly, Wilbur can still hear himself screaming, but everything is muffled. Somewhere, there is fire. Somewhere, the end lies. Far, far away, there is something else. 

_“Wilbur!”_

The agonized scream of Wilbur’s name rips apart his senses, sending a splitting pain through his mind.

 _“Wilbur,_ oh my god- _please get up._ You _have to get up!”_

Tears slide down his cheeks, cutting paths through the dirt and grit. Wilbur feels like he’s floating and dying or maybe it’s neither or both or-

Trembling arms grip his shoulders, dragging Wilbur across the ruined earth. In seconds, the overflowing water of the lake had soaked him through, leaving him deathly cold.

“Wilbur… please…”

Tubbo is talking, Wilbur thinks. Maybe. Everything sounds the same. 

“Please… You can't lose another. We need you.”

Static. Static? What does static sound like…? Fuzzy. Sharp. No, that doesn’t make sense.

 _“Wilbur…”_

Tubbo is easier. He’s quiet - or maybe not. Quiet has a new definition now. Maybe soft was a better word. Scared, perhaps. What did scared sound like?

_Like Tubbo._

Scared. _Scared._

Wilbur opens his eyes.

Tubbo is leaning over him, almost unrecognizable beneath the blood and the ash and the dirt. His eyes are wide and red, tears leaking slowly from the corners.

“W… Wilbur?”

Wilbur tries to nod. He’s not sure if it works, but Tubbo had very suddenly pulled him into a hug, so maybe it did…? Maybe. Nothing was quite certain anymore, except for the certainty of uncertainty. 

Wilbur repeats the word in his head. It becomes meaningless.

Tubbo had left, but Wilbur isn’t quite sure when. Snippets and clipped ends of words fade in and out of his senses. Someone is sobbing. They're all sobbing.

“...Awake…”

“...Sewers… need…”

“...Down…”

Rough hands cup around Wilbur’s cheek. “...run, Wilbur...!” Tommy begs. “We’re going... sewers... Fundy and Tubbo... down, but you…”

Everything goes black for a moment.

 _“You have to wake up,”_ Eret murmurs.

_For L'manburg. We the people._

Wilbur is on his feet, somehow. It hurts. Everything hurts. He pushes through. For them. 

Tommy hikes an arm beneath Wilbur’s, taking some of his weight. His brother helps him into the hole, letting him go first down the ladder. Darkness engulfs everything. It’s nice. Wilbur convinces himself it’s not.

“C’mon, Wil. Keep going. The bunker isn’t very far…”

With each step, Wilbur can feel himself trickle back into awareness. The tears in his uniform. The blood dripping down his forehead. The deep, impenetrable cold. It hurts, but at least it feels.

Finally, Wilbur stumbles into the bunker. Fundy and Tubbo immediately guide him onto a chair, to which Wilbur lets himself collapse in relief.

Wilbur doesn’t know how long they sit in silence. Likely only a minute, but he genuinely isn’t sure. For a brief second, Wilbur cracks his eyes open-

Everyone is watching him.

 _What do we do?_ their eyes beg.

“...I’m sorry,” is all Wilbur can rasp. “I’m sorry.”

Then Tommy is standing and he is talking. His voice shakes, on the verge of collapse. But he is stronger than that.

“Listen, everyone,” he commands. “I don’t… I don’t think we can win this.” Tommy pauses for a moment, as if hoping someone would argue. “...I’m- uh, really not sure how long we all have left,” he continues, voice pitching up with hysteria. “But… I’d like to do something. Um, it’s not a lot, but I just thought…”

Tommy cuts himself off with a shake of his head. Quickly, he strides over to the ender chest sitting in the corner. Dipping a hand inside, Tommy removes a gleaming black disc. Wilbur hears Tubbo inhale sharply beside him.

“I, um… wanted to play this,” Tommy says. “Dream’s been trying to take it from me and Tubbo for ages, but I haven’t let him.”

Silently, Tommy slips the disc inside the jukebox in the center of the bunker. Static murmurs from inside it for a second, before the muffled notes of Cat begin to play. Despite himself, despite everything, Wilbur feels himself smile. A glance around the room shows him that Fundy is too. Tubbo looks as if he might tackle Tommy into a hug right there and then..

Something explodes far above them. A stray stick of TNT, perhaps. Wilbur finds he doesn’t care.

The temporary cheer fades into nothing.

“...Any last words?” Tommy asks over the music. Wilbur expects the boy to sound bitter, but he only seems... tired.

Fundy opens his mouth. “Dad… please," he pleads. "This is the moment you pull out your sly last move. Please.”

Please.

_Please._

“There is no last move,” Wilbur whispers. “I’m sorry. This is it.”

Though it feels like his muscles are made of lead, Wilbur finds it in himself to stand. “I... I’m surrendering for real this time. I'm sorry.” He pauses. Did he hope someone would argue? “...Tommy, I want you to come with me.”

Tommy nods, resigned. The boy steps to his side, silently slipping his hand into Wilbur’s. Just before they exit, Wilbur turns.

“Fundy, Tubbo…” The two stare at him. Wilbur smiles, though it takes everything he has. “If I don’t see you again… it's been an honor. 

“Goodbye.”


	10. Interlude: For Eret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter! Spoilers: it's still sad!

Tubbo wraps his arms around his knees, trying to warm himself. It was a pathetic attempt at comfort, he knew. At this point, the end was inevitable, so why even try?

_“Tubbo, can I ask you something?”_

Why even try?

_Tubbo removes his arms from over his eyes, letting the sun shine upon his face. Eret was lying next to him, fiddling with a blade of grass._

Why?

_“I mean… of course!” Tubbo replies, slightly confused, but still enthusiastic._

_“Do you think people are selfish by nature?”_

_Tubbo blinks, taken aback. “I- um, no? I... don’t really understand…”_

_Eret laughs, more to himself then anything._

_“Ah… don’t worry about it. You’re gonna do great things, okay?”_

_Tubbo smiles at the compliment._

_“Thank you.”_

_Eret stands and walks away. Tubbo goes back to enjoying the day. He'll go to the market with Tommy soon, perhaps. Or maybe up down to the bakery by the docks. It didn't really matter - any time with Tommy was time well spent._

_The next time Eret speaks to Tubbo, there is a sword in his hand and blood dripping down his fingers._

“Fundy… can I ask a question?”

The fox’s copper eyes flit up to meet Tubbo’s. He nods, just barely. A droplet of slimy water drips out of a crack in the wall.

Tubbo clears his throat. He thinks he tastes blood.

“Why… why do I miss people who hurt me?”

Fundy looks away, saying nothing. Tubbo sighs to himself. 

He didn’t really expect an answer, but it had felt nice to hope.


	11. High and Dry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I now have a set chapter count! We are also nearing the end of this fic. And let me say, it's been a blast. It really means a lot to see the support it's getting as well. Now, just because this installment is coming to an end doesn't mean I'm done with writing about the Dream SMP ;) 
> 
> Anyways, that's enough rambling for one day. Enjoy the chapter :)

It’s night when Wilbur and Tommy finally emerge from the sewers. Wilbur finds he doesn't really care, though. Over the past day (days? weeks?) the passage of time had become meaningless. He didn’t even know the last time he’d slept. When the were dragging themselves out of Eret's trap, perhaps. He doesn't know.

Wilbur shakes his head, coming back to himself. His eyes flit upwards, and for a second the image of his nation - beautiful, proud, free - meets his eyes. But then he blinks, and the only thing he sees is rubble and smoke.

Wilbur wants to cry. He wants to scream and beg the Sky Gods or Prime or whatever god this forsaken kingdom praised to let him go back, to let him try again. He wants to be _hurt._ Wants the destruction before him to mean something. He wants his whole being to know what has been lost so that maybe, _maybe,_ he could find it in himself to keep going.

But he doesn’t. All there is is a deep absence within him, a numbness that dulls even the sharpest of losses.

Wilbur glances over at Tommy. Tears are dripping down the boy’s cheeks, making tracks through the grit. But his expression is stony and cold.

“C’mon, Toms,” Wilbur rasps. “We gotta get going.”

Tommy looks down at his boots, seeming years older than he really is.

“Okay,” he murmurs. 

Wilbur gives Tommy’s hand a squeeze, trying to seep some warmth into the boy’s cold fingers. They begin to traverse the new landscape of destruction - climbing over shattered rock and the smoldering splinters of everything they’d built for.

They find their way out, eventually. The stars above them become clearer as they walk farther and farther from their smoking nation. To be honest, Wilbur doesn’t actually know where he is going. Dream didn’t have an official base, or at least one that any of them knew about. He’d always just… been there. Watching. Letting George run the kingdom while he pulled strings wherever he pleased.

Wilbur feels the hairs on his neck stand on end. Was he watching now? Silently stalking them, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike both of them dead? Wilbur wouldn't put it past him, knowing Dream’s nature as a hunter. The thought makes bile rise in his throat.

Wilbur pulls Tommy a little closer to his side, just in case. They continue to walk. The towers and houses fall behind them, the brick streets turn to grass. Buildings grow fewer and farther between. At last, the two come upon a small hill. A silver birch sits at its peak, moss and lichen blooming at its base. Dream is laid out beneath it, arms pillowing his head. Wilbur despises how human he looks. He turns to face Tommy, speaking before the boy can do anything rash. “Tommy,” Wilbur whispers urgently, already seeing anger spark in his eyes. “Whatever you do- _don’t_ run your mouth, okay?”

Tommy’s eyes jerk up to meet his. “What?” he hisses. “Have you forgotten the past day?”

Wilbur sighs, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “You’re passionate, Tommy. It’s one of the things I admire about you. But here, now - your passion will get you killed. And, listen to me-”

Wilbur leans down to Tommy’s height, brushing a hand across the boy’s cheek.

“I can lose the war. I can lose my pride. I can lose everything I’ve ever worked for - but _I can’t lose you,_ Toms. “

Tommy opens his mouth, but no words come out. Wilbur smiles at him, straightening. “Come on,” he says. Tommy nods, wordlessly following in his footsteps.

Dream notices them long before they even begin to climb the hill, though he pretends not too. The masked king picks dully at dirt beneath his fingernails, knowing smugly that he’s won. Wilbur doesn’t give a reaction, but the sight has him tense for the rest of their walk.

The two revolutionaries stop as they finally reach the peak of the hill, silently awaiting acknowledgement.

“General Soot,” Dream leers at last. “And his right hand man. Welcome.” 

“Dream,” Wilbur greets evenly. “It’s a pleasure, as always.”

Dream laughs, pulling himself up into a sitting position. “I’m sure. Now, what is it you have to say?” Dream hums, forward and to the point. Wilbur keeps his back straight, trying to make himself feel dignified in the face of what he was about to say.

“I’m here to... to negotiate surrender,” Wilbur says, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Silence.

“When I started L’manburg,” Wilbur continues, trying to breathe evenly. “I had a hope. A dream, if you will. I wanted a sanctuary, a place where those who have been hurt could seek refuge. But… this image didn’t comply with what the Dream SMP is. So our only option was to make it separate. Independent. Free.”

Wilbur pauses, unsure of what he was hoping Dream would say. When nothing came, he kept speaking.

“We fought for that dream, and we fought well-”

Dream cuts in with a violent wheeze, sounding almost pained.

“Oh - oh man. Ha! ‘We fought well.’ You could say that,” he chokes out between laughs.

Beside him, Tommy goes very still.

“What.”

Wilbur has never heard Tommy sound like that before. The boy could be scary as hell when he wanted to, sure, but this? This was fire. This was ice. This was love and fury and everything Tommy ever was.

Dream wipes a tear from beneath his mask. “Oh, nothing,” he says breathily. “Forget it, Tomathy.” 

Wilbur opens his mouth to warn Tommy, to tell him that Dream was trying to get him fired up, that this was exactly what he wanted - but he was too late.

“You egotistical green bastard!” Tommy snarls, stalking forward with viscous purpose. 

Dream laughs again. “Calm down, tiger. I’m not saying you fought badly. Given your circumstances, you actually fought rather well!”

Wilbur blinks, confused.

“We just fought a little bit better,” Dream finishes with a flourish.

Oh.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Tommy screams. “YOU KNOW WHAT? WHY DON’T _WE_ FIGHT, RIGHT NOW, ONE-ON-ONE, HUH?

“Tommy!” Wilbur cries, trying to reign in his second in command. _“Tommy!”_

“-IN FACT, WHY DON’T WE HAVE A LITTLE DUEL, HUH? JUST THE TWO OF US, ONE ARROW, TEN PACES! A ONE-MAN SHOWDOWN-”

 _“Tommy!”_ Wilbur shouts, whipping the boy around to face him. “What was the one thing I asked of you?”

Tommy stares at him defiantly, rage burning in his eyes. “You know I have to do this,” he says.

Wilbur feels fear and anger and dread all settle heavy in his stomach. _No, you don’t,_ he wants to say - but he never gets the chance.

“I accept.” Wilbur gapes at Dream. The king was standing now, his posture still suggesting boredom. “Let’s duel,” he says. “Right now. One arrow, ten paces. It’s time we end this, once and for all.”

He ever so acutely feels the smoke-whipped wind settle against his skin. His mind wanders - the kingdom in the night. Lanterns lit, skittish dealers huddled in the alleyways. Tense-backed parents reading of war and anguish, before kissing their children goodnight. Beyond, in the tangled woods past the borders. Those who stray from life in an SMP, watching fleet-footed messengers carry news from lands near and far. A land lived in, a world built, a planet and a sun. Life, in all its forms.

Dream and Tommy shake hands. All Wilbur can do is watch.


	12. The Ten Duel Commandments

The dusk air is warm, but the breeze holds a chill. Three revolutionaries stand upon red-stained grass. What do they do?

“This isn’t where it ends.”

Sunlight shines down, warm and golden. Two friends dance in its rays. What do they do?

“Do you want to go home?"

Everything is quiet. One king inspects a curving bow of oak.

What does he do?

\----

Wilbur wishes this wasn’t real. He doesn’t want to let Tommy do this - he wants to hold his brother close, to protect him with every atom of his being. Wants him to know that he’s a brilliant child, that he doesn’t need to sacrifice himself for this. ...But at heart, Wilbur knows that Tommy is a fighter. He always has been. And once he has his mind set, there’s nothing you can do to change it. So it is that the people of L’manburg find themselves alone together, standing upon land that, in a few minutes, would flow with blood - though with whose was yet to be determined.

“Tommy, _please,”_ Tubbo desperately pleads. It’s the fifth time he’s tried since Tommy had told them of the duel. “Your life is worth more than the revolution! Don’t _do_ this!”

Tommy ignores Tubbo completely, his eyes dead set upon the distant figures of Dream and his men. Tubbo sobs to himself in frustration. Fundy and Wilbur can only watch, helpless. “Tommy!” Tubbo tries again. “Listen to me! Please!”

Still, Tommy only stares, unblinking. Hundreds of eyes watch from the windows.

Tubbo grabs Tommy’s shoulders with desperate intent, hopelessly trying to shake his best friend out of his stupor. Tommy glances down at Tubbo, his mouth a thin slash against his face. “I have to do this,” is all he says, parroting what he’d told Wilbur only minutes earlier.

Wilbur feels a gentle agony throbbing at his heart, begging him to just do _something._ Tightly, he clutches at the fabric of his uniform, willing the feeling away. Tubbo has started crying. Fundy takes a step forward, but Wilbur places a hand on his shoulder.

 _There’s nothing we can do,_ he tells his son with his eyes.

“The sun’s coming up,” Tommy says out of nowhere. “We’ll be starting soon.”

Tommy starts walking, but Tubbo doesn’t let him continue for long.

“If you’re going to do this,” the boy says, holding Tommy’s hands in his own. “Then you’re not doing it alone.”

For the first time, Tommy offers Tubbo a smile.

“Never planned to,” he murmurs, giving Tubbo’s hands a squeeze. Then he pulls away, turning to Wilbur. “Can I speak with you for a moment, sir?” he asks, expression stoic.

Wilbur frowns, but nods. He leads Tommy to a small thicket of trees, letting them speak away from the kingdom's prying eyes. As soon as they enter, Tommy’s unfazed demeanor collapses.

“Wilbur,” he whispers, voice shaking. “Wilbur, what… what happens if… if I...?”

Wilbur looks sadly at the trembling boy. This was his chance to convince him to back down, to think again - but Wilbur doesn’t. It was like Tommy said. He needs to do this. Not only for L’manburg, but for himself.

“Tommy,” Wilbur comforts. “I’ve said time and time again that you have a fire in you. This is what you’re meant for. Don’t underestimate yourself.” The leaves rustle in the gentle wind. Tommy stares at him with wide, wet eyes. Then he sighs, gaze turning down at the leaf-strewn earth.

“Do I shoot him, Wil, or do I aim for the skies?” he rasps.

Wilbur places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. In truth… he doesn’t know. But Wilbur gives him his best answer. “I want you to do whatever your heart says you should do,”

Tommy purses his lips, then nods. Wilbur smiles down at him, giving his hair a ruffle, just like he used to.

“Make me proud, Toms.” Hand in hand, the two make their way to where Dream awaits them. \---- 

“Welcome, Tommy,” Dream greets as they arrive. Wilbur shoots a look of loathing at the green-clad man, pouring every single drop of hatred into his gaze.

“Welcome to you as well,” Tommy replies, his voice unwavering.

Dream cocks his head curiously, putting a hand to his chin. “Are you ready, Tommy? You seem to be missing a bow.”

Tommy looks down at his hands in surprise, a blush blooming across his face. His mouth is open, about to refute Dream, when Fundy gives him a tap on the shoulder.

Tommy whirls around, teeth bared at the interruption but... Fundy stands with his arm outstretched, a simple bow held in his paw. “Tommy…” Fundy starts, looking anywhere but the boy’s eyes. “I don’t fully agree with this, but… good luck.” Fundy presses the bow into Tommy’s hands with a final, pained smile. Then he turns away before Tommy can even say a word.

There’s silence for what seems like hours as Tommy stares at the bow in his hands. Finally, he lets his arm fall to his side, eyes like chips of coal.

“I’m ready.”

Dream tilts his mask up, grinning devilishly. “If we’re starting, then I hope you don’t mind me bringing in my men to witness?”

“Go ahead,” Tommy growls.

Dream puts a hand to his mouth, sounding out a distinctive whistle. Wilbur is reminded unsettlingly of birdsong. The bushes just beyond the path begin to rustle, and out emerge four men. George, Punz, Sapnap, and…

Wilbur feels his heart stop beating in his chest.

Eret.

His eyes shine like beacons in the dusk, a genial smile gracing his face. It’s everything Wilbur used to love about him. Dream is grinning like a madman. He’d planned every second of this war, of this moment, Wilbur knows it. He wants to get Tommy’s guard down, make him unfocused. A sick tactic, even for Dream. It makes Wilbur gag.

Wilbur doesn’t think of Tubbo and Fundy, doesn’t think of George or Punz or Sapnap or Dream. At that moment, it’s only Eret and Tommy and himself and everything that had ever passed between them.

He’s shaken from his trance when Dream begins to speak.

“I’d like to lay down our terms, if that’s alright with you,” Dream grins.

Tommy is wound tight as a spring, his eyes dead set on Eret. But he manages to nod.

“Good,” Dream hums. “Now, it’s really quite simple - if you shoot me first, you get your independence. You get your land and your freedom and everything you’ve been fighting for. No harm will befall you from my kingdom. But-” Dream holds up a finger. “If I shoot you first, then you die, L’manburg crumbles, and every one of you will be forgotten. Got it?”

Tommy looks sick. Wilbur _feels_ sick. He's hyper-aware of everything around him - every shuffle, every crackle. The smoke on the wind. The lives on the line.

“G-got it,” Tommy says, flinching at his stutter.

Dream takes a step back. “Good! Now, Soot, if you would?”

Wilbur breathes in, crushing down every emotion writhing inside his mind and heart and body. “The duel will now commence,” he announces, voice ringing out like a bell. “I will count to ten paces, and when I say ‘fire,’ you will turn and shoot. You have one arrow.”

Tommy and Dream take their places, bows in hand.

“We will now begin.”

They turn, facing back to back.

“One, two, three, four…”

Their footsteps resonate against the earth. 

“Five, six, seven, eight…”

Four more paces. Wilbur can hear his heart pound in his ears.

“Nine…”

The world holds its breath.

“TEN PACES, _FIRE!”_

Dream and Tommy whirl around to face each other. Dream’s lips are pulled into a snarl, his bow aimed directly between Tommy's eyes. The air stills. Time slows to a halt.

Dream releases his shot. He is still and grounded. The arrow flies in a perfect line.

Tommy hesitates. His hands tremble. At the last second, he points his shot to the sky.

Time releases them. Twin arrows carve through the air. 

One flies towards the clouds.

One does not.

Tommy falls. Red blossoms from his head like a flower. Wilbur is running. A wretched, animalistic scream rips through the air. It takes him too long to realize it’s him. Tommy falls into his arms. He is sobbing.

 _“Tommy,”_ he chokes. “Godammit, wake _up._ Tommy, please - you can’t die. Tommy… I won't let you live with one left...”

Without Tommy, what was the point?

“T-Tommy… don’t die…”

Without Tommy, everything crumbles.

“Wake up, Tommy… _please_ wake up…”

Without Tommy...

“...W-Wilbur...”

He wonders if he’s hearing things at first, but no - Tommy’s eyes are barely open, those beautiful blue irises staring at him sadly. “It’s okay,” Tommy whispers. “It’s okay.”

Wilbur is hyperventilating. Black is creeping at the edges of his vision. The world falls apart. He can hear screams in the streets.

“No, it’s not!” he sobs. “Tommy, you can’t die! You'll only have one life left! What about Tubbo? And Fundy? And… and me? Gods, I can’t lose you, Toms. You're my brother! I _need_ you-”

Tommy smiles faintly.

“I love you, Wil,” he says. Then his eyes fall shut, and his second life leaves his body.

\----

Tommy is floating. No, that wasn’t the right word. Floating implied there was a space to float in. Here, there was nothing.

And yet, far, far away... there is something. Not a light. More the absence of a light. A void where Tommy knows there should be something. 

It whispers to him. It tells him it's name is Clara. It is kind. Tommy is reminded of Phil. Its absence reaches out to him, bringing a lack of cold. Tommy smiles, letting it soothe the throbbing pain in his chest.

 _“It’s okay,”_ It tells him quietly. _“These things happen. You don’t have to fight.”_

“I know,” Tommy says to it. 

_“So why are you here?_

Tommy frowns. “I don’t know where this is.”

The absence is not still. 

_“Why are you here?”_ it says again.

Tommy is beginning to grow frustrated. The absence of cold starts to trickle into the absence of heat.

“I don’t want to leave,” he says. He doesn’t know why.

 _“Then respawn. Go home,”_ the absence murmurs to him.

“I don’t know how.”

It hums. _“Where do you live?”_

Tommy thinks for a moment. “I… I live in L’manburg.”

 _“Where do you live?”_ it repeats.

Tommy scowls. “I just told you, I live in L’manburg.”

_“Where do you live?”_

Tommy prepares to repeat himself again, but something makes him hesitate.

“I live… I live in L’manburg.” Pause. “With Wilbur, and Fundy, and… and Tubbo.”

The absence is not still.

_“Do you want to go home?”_

_Tommy is running through the grass, giggling between his heavy breaths. Cottonwood seeds dance along the draft, holding the sunlight like a candle._

_“Hurry up!” he calls over his shoulder. “You’re never gonna catch me like this!”_

_Tubbo gives a mock shout of offense as he begins to run faster through the fields. They laugh. The shadows begin to stretch. Their chase turns into catching frogs and watching the seeds float on the breeze. The crickets sing a familiar tune._

_“Do you want to go home?” Tubbo asks him. “It’s starting to get late.”_

_“Nah.” Tommy dismisses Tubbo with a wave of his hand. “Let’s stay and watch the sunset.”_

_Tubbo looks a little nervous about the idea._

_“They'll will wonder where you are.”_

_Tommy scoffs. “Forget about them! We’re having fun here!”_

_“Tommy,” Tubbo insists. “Wilbur’s gonna miss you. Techno will freak. Phil's no better. What if they think you’ve been eaten by wolves or something? They’ll worry sick!”_

_Doubt worms its way into Tommy’s mind._

_“But the sunset’ll be so pretty…”_

_Tubbo is looking at him. The sun creates a halo of light behind him. The cricket-song reaches its chorus._

_“Tommy, do you want to go home?”_

**You have been shot by Dream. 2/3 lives remaining. Would you like to respawn?**

**> [Yes]<  
>No<**

Tommy opens his eyes.

\----

“Fundy, give me that healing potion! I need it _now!”_

Fundy scrambles frantically with the glass bottle. “Dad, it’s not done, I-”

“Give it to me!” Wilbur snarls. Fundy does, nearly dropping the bottle in the process. Potion in hand, Wilbur shoves Tommy’s mouth open. He pours the drink down the boy’s throat, lifting his head so he would swallow the cloudy red liquid.

“Tubbo!” Wilbur barks. “Is he breathing?”

Tubbo presses his head to Tommy’s chest, tears mixing with the blood clotted in his friend’s uniform. “N-no, Wilbur. His heart's not even beating. He's... he's dead. What... what if he doesn't respawn-”

Tubbo cuts off with a sob. Wilbur feels his own heart pound like a rabbit’s. It isn't enough.

“Son, we need more!” Wilbur’s voice cracks. Tommy had died and wasn't respawning. Why? Why was he still dead? Did he not want to come back? Was it him? Tommy was lost to oblivion and it's Wilbur's fault. He let him go. He let him go.

The dusk air is warm, but the breeze holds a chill. Three revolutionaries stand upon red-stained grass. 

“This isn’t where it ends,” Wilbur says, mostly to himself. No one believes him.

Wilbur’s knees give out. He collapses to Tommy’s side. 

“I miss you,” Fundy says. Nothing happens.

“I love you,” Wilbur says. Nothing happens.

“I need you,” Tubbo says. Nothing happens.

 _Come home,_ they think, but none of them say.

Tommy opens his eyes. The world stops turning.

“...W’bur? Th’t you…?”

Tommy is almost inaudible, his speech slurred and eyes dull. But he’s alive again. He’s breathing.

He’s alive.

Wilbur cries like he’s a child again.

 _“Tommy,”_ he sobs. _“Tommy.”_

“Hey…” Tommy murmurs, smiling faintly. “S’okay, Wil… ‘M here.”

Tubbo is laughing. Fundy joins in. Soon, all three of them are. The line between laughing and crying begins to blur. “Tommy,” Wilbur chokes out between hiccups. _“You're alive,”_

Tommy smiles. They don’t need anything else. Minutes tick by. Dream is long gone. The streets are quiet and empty. The blood begins to dry. Wilbur runs out of tears.

He composes himself. Tommy is still hurt. Tommy needs him. Needs his friends. “We’re gonna get you fixed up, okay?” Wilbur whispers, brushing a thumb across Tommy’s cheek. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

“...’M hurt?” Tommy asks, confused.

Tubbo steps in. “Dream shot you, Tommy. Do you remember?”

Tommy’s face falls. “I… I lost.”

None of them know what to tell him.

Tommy begins to struggle.

“I _lost,”_ he cries. “Wilbur, I need to-”

“Tommy!” Wilbur holds the boy down by the shoulders, trying to prevent him from upsetting his wound. “Tommy, you need to calm down-”

Fundy and Tubbo restrain his legs. Tommy only struggles harder, the prime path trembling beneath his thrashing. “I need to see Dream!” he begs. “I need to see him! Please-”

“We’ll get him soon, Tommy! Just stop moving. You need to heal first-”

Tommy finally stills, exhausted.

“Promise?” he mutters.

Wilbur bites his lip. Dream had shot Tommy, had killed him. But what else could Wilbur say?

“I promise.”

Tommy relaxes.

“Kay… 'm... 'm gonna sleep now… g’night…” 

Tommy trails off as he slips into a shallow slumber. Wilbur sighs, running a hand through the boy’s messy blond hair. “Get some rest,” he murmurs, though he knows Tommy can't hear him.

Fundy puts a paw on his shoulder, pulling Wilbur back into reality. “We’ll need more bandages and potions,” he says with reluctance.

Wilbur nods. 

“I know,” he replies, glancing down at their hastily crafted brewing stand. “I’ll help you get more materials. Tubbo, you stay with Tommy, okay?”

Tubbo nods, still watching the gentle rise and falls of Tommy’s chest.

Wilbur and Fundy leave. Tubbo stays.

"...I don't know what I'd have done if you didn't respawn," the boy murmurs, though his words fall on deaf ears. "Leave, maybe. I don't think I'd want to fight anymore."

Silence. The grass feels cold against his skin.

"I do it for you, Tommy. You're my best fucking friend. Jump and I'm jumping, yeah?"

He says nothing, but Tubbo swears he can see Tommy smile.


	13. If I Die, It'd be for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Notes regarding the SMP election and the sequel to this fic at the bottom. There will not be spoilers, but there will be /lots/ of screaming and swearing. You have been warned.

_Tommy’s alive._

Wilbur can hardly bring himself to believe it. Even as he listens to the gentle beat of the boy’s chest, now wrapped tightly in bandages, the very concept seems impossible. And yet, against all odds, here he was.

“Wilbur,” Fundy says, his voice dull with relief. “We need to bring Tommy somewhere safe. We're out in the open. Dream could come back any minute.”

He nods, barely listening.

_Tommy’s okay, with one life to spare._

“C’mon, Wil. Let’s go.”

He isn’t sure who’s talking. 

“Do you want to carry him?”

One breath. Two breaths. How many had it been since they’d stopped altogether? 

“Dad? Do you hear me?”

The touch of a hand against his own jerks Wilbur out of his trance. He looks up, vision blurry. Fundy’s amber gaze is burning into him, demanding answers he doesn’t have. Wilbur loses himself in his son's eyes. Centuries pass.

Tommy shuffles slightly in his sleep, nearly making Wilbur jump out of his skin. Almost unconsciously, Tubbo lays a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder, settling him back into his rest. Wilbur sighs, letting the tension in his muscles drip away.

“We’ll take him back to his house,” he orders softly. “He has a basement we’ll be safe in.” Fundy nods in response, shuffling away from Tommy to give Wilbur room to pick him up. 

He has one arm under the boy’s knees before Tubbo interrupts.

“Um, Wil…”

Wilbur turns his gaze upwards, meeting Tubbo’s nervous stare. “...Could I?” he asks softly, gesturing down at Tommy’s battered form.

Wilbur hesitates. He wants to be the one to hold Tommy in his arms, to carry him home, bloodied though he was, and yet… something in Tubbo’s gaze convinces him otherwise.

Slowly, Wilbur eases out from under Tommy’s legs, allowing Tubbo to cautiously heft his friend into his arms. Not another word passes between the three.

They walk slowly. Tubbo may be braver than most men Wilbur knows, but he was still only sixteen, and his body wasn’t done growing. Despite that, the boy powers past it, not stopping once. Wilbur and Fundy trail in his wake, patiently following him through it all. Every step, Wilbur expects someone to burst through the night, ready to slaughter every last one of them. Punz, coldly vengeful and deadly. Or maybe it’d be Sapnap, a brute with match in his hand and fire in his eyes. Perhaps George, not one for violence but unendingly loyal to Dream nonetheless. Maybe it’d be the masked king himself, coming to finish what he’d started. But though the bushes rustle with the movements of unseen animals, though the clouds drift thick and black through the morning sky, though the crickets hum gently in the silence, no one ever comes.

They arrive at Tommy’s house without fanfare. Tubbo and Fundy immediately move to enter, but Wilbur finds himself hesitating. He sees Fundy frown through his periphery, then gesture for Tubbo to carry on inside.

“You coming, sir?” the fox queries.

Wilbur brushes a hand across the smooth stone walls.

“You don’t have to call me sir, you know. You're my son," he replies after a pause, avoiding the question.

“You deserve it,” is all Fundy answers with, something twisting in his eyes. 

A strangely comfortable silence fills the air, split only by the chirping of insects. Wilbur’s hand catches on an arrow shaft buried between the cracks in the walls. He eases it out wordlessly, inspecting the ragged fletching. 

“How many weeks ago was it that we fought here?” he asks, partly to himself. “It can’t have been that long.”

Fundy doesn’t have a response for him, though Wilbur doesn’t expect him to. He doesn’t know himself, so why should Fundy?

Wilbur casts the arrow aside, letting it disappear into the grass. “C’mon. We should go see how Tubbo and Tommy are.”

Fundy nods, presenting Wilbur with a quaky, lopsided smile. Together, they enter Tommy’s house. Wilbur lets Fundy go down the ladder to the basement first, allowing himself a final glance back at where Tommy had spent so much of his life. The place was ruined, of course. The chests broken and items strewn about the floors, hastily placed half slabs crumbling on the windows, stray bloodstains crusted on the walls…

Wilbur silently promises himself that, if he lives, he’ll make this a home worthy of its owner.

He tears his eyes away, following Fundy down to where Tommy was waiting. In single file, they quietly pass down the rough stone corridor...

_Memories flash across his vision. Blue torchlight. Blood on the floor. A promise broken._

...To a small room with chairs, an ender chest, and a jukebox…

_A last resort. Tear-strewn faces. The gentle agony of giving up._

...Tommy, resting peacefully in its center, Tubbo by his side…

_”I can’t lose you.”_

Wilbur stumbles on a loose jag of rock, violently falling out of the flood of memories. Awareness hits him like a brick to the head, every point of contact suddenly becoming too much-

Claws dig into Wilbur’s hand, grounding him. 

“It’s okay,” Fundy comforts. “You’re here. Tommy’s alive.”

_You’re here. Tommy’s alive. It’s okay._

“It’s okay,” Wilbur repeats.

And it was, in a way. Yes, L’manburg was destroyed. Yes, Dream had all but won. Yes, they had suffered through uncountable traumas. But they were alive, and in the end, that’s what mattered. We the people.

Tubbo pats the spot next to him, urging Wilbur to take a seat next to his sleeping friend. He does just as much, his hand almost unconsciously drifting over to Tommy’s. Fundy settles down to his right, leaning slightly on Wilbur’s shoulder. He welcomes the comforting warmth of the fox’s body with a small smile.

Wilbur can feel himself begin to drift off, the adrenaline of the past few days finally trickling away. Faintly, he can hear Tubbo snoring beside him, but the sound soon melts away as sleep finally pulls him into oblivion.

\----

Wilbur awakens in a beautiful plains, cut through with a snaking river and dotted with clusters of trees. The sun warms his skin, the breeze ruffles his hair. Everything is perfect.

The ground splits open.

White hot lava dribbles from the breach, spitting deathly curtains of molten rock through the air. Wilbur tries to scream, tries to run - but he is frozen. A jagged peak tears through the gap, growing in size every second. Wilbur can feel his ears ring, ring, ring…

Lighting cracks through the soot-stained sky. Someone is laughing. They won’t stop. Teeth glint through the dark. A hand appears, burning yellow eyes shining just behind it. It is holding something.

_“Go on, Wilbur, take it.”_

The world pauses, thinks a moment, then begins to fast-forward.

Wilbur awakens in a darkened cave, cut through with a deep ravine and dotted with muddy puddles. The damp pulls the heat from his skin, the draft ruffles his hair. Everything is wrong.

Nothing happens. 

There is someone with him, just beyond Wilbur’s sight. He is laughing. He won’t stop. Teeth glint through the dark. A hand appears, burning yellow eyes shining just behind it. It is holding something.

“I’m sorry, Wil,” he rasps. “But it's just karma. I’m sorry. Wilbur…”

“Wilbur…”

_“Wilbur-!”_

Wilbur snaps awake with a gasp, clutching a hand to his sweat-stained uniform. His eyesight is hazy, but he can make out someone just in front of him, curving horns reflecting the sunlight of the day-

The last dregs of his dream melt away. It's... It's not him. It’s just Tubbo, all but on top of Wilbur, shaking his shoulders with violent intent. “Wilbur-” Tubbo gasps. “Please… I think-”

Wilbur jerks upwards as his mind finally catches up with the situation. “What?” he barks, voice raw. “Is Tommy okay? What’s happening?”

Tubbo gapes at Wilbur’s outburst for a moment, before pulling himself back together. “I- um, no. Tommy’s fine, sir. But-” 

Wilbur melts with relief. “Then what’s the problem?”

Tubbo grimaces, worry shining bright and wet in his eyes. The boy lowers his voice, leaning in close…

“Um… well… bad news. Uh, Dream is looking for us, sir. But Fu-”

Right on cue, a resounding _boom_ shakes the room right down to its walls. 

_Cannonfire. The beginning of the end. A promise made and kept-_

_No. Not now._

Wilbur rips himself from his thoughts. Right now, he needs to be the general he is. Tentatively, he stands on shaky limbs, taking stock of everything around him. Tommy, still asleep. Tubbo, worried but here. Fundy-

“Tubbo…” Wilbur begins to question, apprehension creeping into his voice. “Where’s my son?”

Tears begin to collect in the corner of the boy’s eyes. Tubbo looks away, wrapping his arms around himself like a hug.

“I-” he starts, voice cracking. “F-Fundy… he- he left. He wanted to… to lead them away. Said he wanted to make you proud of him. I thought I could stop him, Wilbur! But… but I…”

Tubbo chokes, unable to continue speaking. Wilbur takes a step, holding his arms open. Tubbo falls into the embrace like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. 

“I woke you as soon as he left," he sobs. "And - and I tried to tell you, I promise-”

“Shh,” Wilbur comforts, though panic thrums hot and heavy through his veins. “It’s okay. We’ll go find Fundy. He’s gonna be fine.”

 _That stupid, self-sacrificing child,_ Wilbur thinks internally, though he says nothing.

He pulls away, placing a reassuring hand on Tubbo’s shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s go,” he murmurs.

Tubbo wipes at his eyes, hesitating. “But… but what about Tommy?”

Wilbur stares sadly at Tommy’s slumbering figure. For a moment, he almost feels jealous of the boy’s tranquility. “Tommy’s just gonna have to take care of himself,” he says.

Tubbo gives one last glance at his best friend’s form. Then he breathes deep, his face hardening into determination. “...One last thing, Wil.” 

Wilbur frowns, but waits patiently as Tubbo rummages through the ender chest sitting in the corner of the room. 

Eventually, the boy pulls out two shining iron short swords. He clips one to the belt around his waist, and offers the other to Wilbur. Bewildered, he grasps the handle, giving it a test swing. “Tubbo…" he breathes. "How do you have these?” 

Tubbo flushes. 

“Stole ‘em,” he mutters,

Wilbur laughs breathlessly, hooking the sword to his own belt. “I see I’ve taught you well.”

Tubbo smiles, saying everything he needs to with only his eyes. 

Side by side, the two begin to walk down the corridor - not without a look back at who they were leaving behind.

\----

Wilbur and Tubbo emerge into a darkened world, fully taken by the next night. Stars burn from billions of miles away, providing only the faintest of lights through the blackness. Even the torchlight of the kingdom seems ashen, somehow. Curious, Wilbur trots down the boardwalk, Tubbo at his back, and inspects one of the sconces that hold the torches. He hesitates, entranced by the dancing flame, before pulling it into his hand.

“Alright, Tubbo,” Wilbur rumbles. “Do you have any idea which direction Fundy might’ve-”

A scream shreds the air around them, piercing and animalistic. It goes on for far, far too long - echoing off the hills and vibrating deep into the earth. Lights flick on like little stars.

Wilbur takes one look at Tubbo. Tubbo takes one look at him. Then they are sprinting as fast as their legs can carry them. The only reason Wilbur knows his son isn’t dead is because his screams are still tearing through the silence. Off the boardwalk, through the houses, past the trees, down the hill-

It seems like millions of years and yet no time at all when the finally, _finally,_ locate their missing number.

Wilbur nearly faints at the sight.

Fundy, his fucking son, the light of his life for so many years, lying in a filthy ditch with his leg torn open. Wilbur is frozen. All he can do is watch as red soaks everything surrounding the fox. His fur. His uniform. The grass. Even the air - all Wilbur can smell is the pungent metal tang of blood. The ragged wound bubbles with it.

Wilbur throws up. It’s all he can do in the moment.

When the awareness of his surroundings finally seeps back into his senses, Wilbur finds his ever-loyal friend already tending to the broken fox. Despite everything, Wilbur feels a small flower of pride bloom in his chest.

The world blanks out for a moment.

Then Wilbur is at Fundy’s side too, letting the light from his torch spill across his son's body. Wilbur gently cups a hand around the fox's cheek, dragging his thumb back and forth, back and forth, back and forth... He finds that time is slipping away from him, like water through a palm. It had been hours, or maybe only a few minutes.

“I… I think I’ve stopped the bleeding, sir.”

Wilbur jumps at Tubbo’s announcement. He had nearly forgotten the boy was there. But sure enough, a quick glance down at Fundy’s leg reveals the red sash of Tubbo’s uniform tied tightly just above the wound.

“A tourniquet?” Wilbur asks hesitantly. Sure, it worked, but Fundy would be in no condition…

Tubbo’s long sigh interrupts his train of thought. “It’s all I could think of, Wil,” he breathes. “It was just bleeding too much. I’m sorry.”

Wilbur lets the tension fall from his shoulders. “Oh, Tubbo… I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve done amazing,” 

Tubbo smiles. “Thank you, Wil.”

Wilbur and Tubbo both start as Fundy jerks in his sleep. The fox is shivering, despite the humidity in the air. Wilbur grimaces. He must be in so much pain... “Hey there, son,” he whispers, leaning down so the fox could hear him. “Can you hear me?”

Fundy’s copper eyes shoot open, flitting wildly across the terrain. “Dad-” he chokes.

Wilbur shushes him, brushing a soothing hand through his fur. “It’s alright, my champion,” he consoles. “You’re okay.” But Fundy doesn’t calm. Quite the contrary, actually - he’s breathing faster than Wilbur thinks is healthy, and what little skin he can see has gone a ghostly white.

“No, Wil, please listen-” he begs. “Please.”

Wilbur glances nervously back at Tubbo. All the boy has to give him is a confused shrug. “...Okay, Fundy. What is it?” Wilbur asks.

A clawed hand latches onto the cravat of his uniform, pulling him uncomfortably close to the fox’s frantic, wild eyes.

“It’s a trap,” Fundy hisses.

Wilbur doesn’t have time to react. Faster than he can comprehend, they’ve been surrounded - George, _Eret…_ even Dream himself.

There’s no talking, this time. No passing of insults, no pre-battle banter. Wilbur has barely seconds to even realize what is happening before they’ve descended upon him. His muscles are moving before Wilbur’s brain commands it. Drop the torch. Hand to belt. Sword up. Hold steady. Sparks fly as George’s netherite blade grinds against Wilbur’s iron. Dream’s right hand man growls in frustration, pulling his sword back and crushing his boot down on Wilbur’s ankle. Pain lances through his nerves, as hot and blinding as fire. But Wilbur doesn’t have the time to care for it - he doesn’t have time for anything. He forces himself to his feet, sword in hand. In the half second he was out of commission, Tubbo had gotten George slammed to a tree, simultaneously fending off Eret’s clumsy sword slashes and Dream-

Realization bolts through Wilbur’s gut. He leaps backwards, feeling the blade of Dream’s axe cut a shallow slit through his cheek. The masked king laughs, pulling up the heavy blade to take another swing. Wilbur knows he can’t take Dream. The psycho was just playing with him, like a cat batting at a mouse that’s already caught. But Fundy was still injured and incapacitated - and what's a father with something to lose?

He wheels backwards, thrashing out a hand at the first flash of blue he sees. His fingers make contact with the solid fabric he’d used to craft their uniforms. Knowing he has only seconds, Wilbur _pulls._

He isn’t quite sure how it happens. Something passes between him and Tubbo in the brief flash of a moment their eyes had met. But then they’re back to back, fending off sword strikes and axe swings, their desperation the only thing keeping them alive. Wilbur’s thoughts pass at a million miles per hour, calculating the gaps in Dream’s defense, or the perfect place to incapacitate George. Eret’s the weak link - both him and Tubbo know it. They focus their attacks on him. Wilbur channels every scrap of hatred and betrayal into his muscles, sending out flying kicks matched with a sword to shoulder, a punch in the stomach paired with a sidestep and a jab at the knees- all while dodging Dream and George’s relentless flurry of strikes.

And yet… something is nagging at Wilbur’s brain, like an unseen tick. Something important he should be aware of, something that was missing...

He realizes what it is far too late.

The scent of smoke is hauntingly familiar, the crackle of shattering wood a melody he’s heard a thousand times. Even the light of the fire feels like an old friend. Dream, George and Eret have stopped attacking. Wilbur knows and dreads the reason why.

The flames part, and Sapnap emerges. It was like he controlled the fire. Even as the light dances around his body, it never burns him. it just sways, side to side, with each and every footstep Sapnap takes.

Tubbo whimpers behind him. Wilbur is frozen. Fundy is silent - unconscious, unaware.

Now, Sapnap was no enigma to Wilbur, though that was likely more terrifying than him being a mystery. Wilbur was aware that the light of sanity had left the raven-haired man behind the second Wilbur had whispered revolution. Nowadays, the only thing he cared for was the heat of the flames. Dream knew this, and had used it to his every advantage. It all culminates into the reason why Wilbur murmurs a final prayer up to the Sky Gods, hoping that they’d show him mercy.

Sapnap cackles, the light of the inferno blazing in his eyes. It has surrounded them completely, caging them within its deathly walls.

“Any last words?” Dream laughs, approaching the three revolutionaries with axe in hand. Tubbo slips his hand into Wilbur’s. Fundy is still unconscious, but Wilbur shuffles so that they’re both standing over him. A final glance passes between him and Tubbo. The boy’s eyes are pleading, begging him to do something, _anything._

All Wilbur can do is hug Tubbo close to his chest, tears streaking down his cheeks.

“We'll be okay, Tubbo," he whispers, choking on the words. "We'll come back.” 

Dream lifts his axe, the razor edge of the blade shining in the firelight.

Wilbur buries his face in Tubbo’s hair and closes his eyes, comforting the boy through his second taste of oblivion.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

Wilbur counts each second in his head, the mantra eerily familiar.

_Five._

_Six._

_Seven._

_Eight._

He hears a _swoosh_ of air as the blade swings down.

_Nine._

The fire crackles. His son is pale and trembling. Tubbo shakes in his arms.

Ten.

Wilbur braces, preparing for the flash of pain before the end-

But it never comes.

...Slowly, ever so slowly, Wilbur opens his eyes.

Dream’s axe is lowered, his mouth twisted into an unamused snarl. “What, Punz?” the masked king snaps. “Kind of in the middle of finishing the war here.”

Tubbo is staring too now. It seems unreal. And yet…

“I’m very sorry, sir,” Punz pants. “But this is urgent.”

Dream scoffs disbelievingly. George and Sapnap pass a look between them. “More important than this? Really?” the king sneers over the dying crackle of the flames. Punz wrings his hands, nervously glancing over at Wilbur, Tubbo, and Fundy.

“Actually… yes, Dream.”

The atmosphere changes very suddenly. The last licks of fire die away. Dream is frowning very hard.

“...Very well,” Dream concludes. “Sap, George - stay with these three. Don’t kill them. Wait until I get back. Eret, come with me.”

Dream and Eret vanish into the dark of the night.

All at once, Wilbur collapses, the pain in his ankle suddenly flaring again. Tubbo falls with him, unable to hold himself up for a second longer. Dirt and ash smear across his hands, the bits of rock mixed with it digging into his skin. A hand pats his knee, sturdy yet gentle. It’s Fundy. He’s awake, just barely. 

...Fundy’s okay. He’s okay.

They’re okay.

Wilbur cries. He’s not ashamed to admit it. The world seems to close in on him, making him hyper-aware of every cricket chirp, every shaky breath from his comrades, every hesitant shuffle from Sapnap and George. 

It’s all so real. It’s all so _alive._

Time passes in waves. One minute seems to last forever while the next is barely seconds. Wilbur holds Fundy and Tubbo close through it all. If nothing else, they’d live to see the sunrise.

The ashen bushes rustle. Five heads snap up to meet the sound.

Dream emerges, a wide grin splitting his face. He doesn’t say a word to Wilbur, only beckoning for his men to follow. And they do, though the confused air radiating from them does not go unnoticed. The three are gone just as quickly as they appeared, leaving the revolutionaries uncomfortably alone.

“I don’t understand…” Tubbo mutters. Wilbur can’t help but agree.

The next minute stretches on for centuries.

 _Snap._ A twig crunches from behind them.

For a fearful moment, Wilbur believes Dream has returned, that this was all just a game, that he was going to die, but-

But it’s not Dream. It’s not Sapnap or George or Punz or even Eret. It’s Tommy.

Wilbur is on his feet in less than a second, catching Tommy before he can fall. The boy is covered in blood and sweat and yet he is _smiling,_ staring up at Wilbur with those beautiful blue eyes. “I did it, Wil,” Tommy rasps, nearly inaudible. “I did it.”

Wilbur is speechless. “Tommy, I… I don’t understand,” he stutters. “How are you here? What did you do?”

Tommy wraps his arms around Wilbur’s chest, hugging him tighter than he ever has before. “Wilbur, I got our independence.”

Dawn light spills over the kingdom, bathing everything in its red-orange glow.

“It’s over. We won.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT HOLY FUCK THAT WAS SUCH A FUCKING ROLLERCOASTER TO WATCH WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS BUT I AM JSUT A SOBBING MESS I CANNOT HANDLE ANY OF THIS THE SEQUEL IS 100% CONFIRMED OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT HOLY FUCK HOLY SHIT HOLY FUCK OH MY GODD WHAT THE HE;L AK HOLY HSO DNAO SDFEHBC HKSYGUDSFIUBDIsU IUSO DHIVU OICSIUO OS78R983- -028RB U 0A9T 3T 0 329fs87*&^%sdkvjf&$%^#$fs%%^&*( (*y ygvm> <>>&^%rl


	14. The Phoenix

Tommy isn’t quite sure of the exact moment he wakes up. The passage from unconsciousness into awareness was so slow, so gradual, that the line became blurred and uncertain. But eventually, he begins to feel each sense begin to slide into place. The cool of the ground, the must in the air, the acrid taste on his tongue. Even the ever so faint light against his eyelids. Tommy groans as a vibrant pain suddenly flares in his head, an all too familiar reminder of what had happened.

...What _had_ happened?

There… there was a duel. With Dream. One arrow. Ten paces. And Tommy…

Tommy had lost.

A dull, bitter pang passes through his heart. He’d lost. He’d put it all on the line and he’d _lost._

And yet…

There was still a way to fix it.

Tommy forces his eyes open, flinching at the sudden sensory overload. He’s alone, and in his basement somehow. Had Wilbur brought him all the way here? Tommy shakes his head, shoving the thoughts into the back of his mind. It didn’t matter where he was or how he’d gotten here - what mattered was L’manburg.

Tommy stands on trembling legs, clutching at the heavily bandaged wound through his chest. The world seems to sway for a moment, coming in and out of focus, before settling. Tommy lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Then, ever so slowly, he begins to limp down the corridor. Each step sends an excruciating jolt through his nerves, all freezing ice and burning fire. But Tommy forces himself to keep walking. Up the ladder. Out his ruined base. Into the darkness of the early dawn. It was a humid morning, though not necessarily unpleasant. A bird Tommy doesn’t recognize is warbling in the distance, the first voice of the morning chorus. He wishes he could admire it for longer, but the clock was ticking.

Tommy drags himself down the prime path, leaving a thin line of blood in his wake. Black is creeping into the edges of his vision, threatening a return to unconsciousness. But Tommy doesn’t let it take him - not here, not now.

Finally, Tommy spots a figure in the distance. It didn’t matter who it was, he just needed someone, _anyone_ who could carry a message.

Punz hears Tommy’s uneven footsteps long before Tommy himself makes it anywhere near the man. He’s instantly suspicious, though there was hardly any surprise there. But the important thing was that he approached Tommy with a curving iron dagger gripped tightly in his fist. They stand face to face for longer than Tommy is comfortable with, doing nothing but staring into each other's eyes. But then, after nearly a minute, Punz opens his mouth.

“Y’know, I’ve been ordered to kill you on sight.”

Tommy isn’t exactly reassured, but he forces himself to press on regardless. “This is important,” he rasps, his throat flaring in pain. “I need to speak with Dream.”

Punz looks utterly unconvinced. “Really?” he debates. “What could possibly be so important that you’d need to speak to Dream?” Tommy flinches back as Punz takes a threatening step towards him.

“I want to make a deal with him.”

That gives Punz pause. The blond frowns to himself, deep in thought. The dagger in his hand glints in the torchlight.

_Please._

“Fine. Stay here.”

Punz takes off at a quick but stable jog. Tommy collapses as soon as he’s gone, feeling the boardwalk beneath him shiver at the impact of his knees. The pain is more acute than ever. It pulses in waves throughout his entire body, drowning out every other sensation. Time isn’t quite passing right. Tommy doesn’t care.

All he needs is Dream.

Tommy curls in on himself, feeling warm, slick blood seep through his bandages. It’s strangely grounding, in a way - something to focus on other than the pain.

“Tommy.”

Tommy can’t help the surge of fear Dream’s voice incites. Regardless, he forces himself to stand once more, facing the masked king in all his infamous glory. He can feel Dream’s eyes rake up and down his body, inspecting the blood pouring through his bandages. Tommy watches as something in the king relaxes, as if no longer deeming Tommy a threat.

He wants to be angry about that, wants to feel offended - but he is just too goddamn tired.

Dream huffs. “Let’s make this snappy, kid. I don’t have time for loitering.” Tommy visibly clenches his teeth, but nods. “I want to make a deal with you,” he forces past his throat. 

Now came the hard part.

“I… I know you want me dead, Dream. You've made that plenty obvious. But I also know something else you want - something you’ve been trying to get from me ever since I came here.”

Dream is leaning forward, tasting blood in the water.

“My disks,” Tommy finishes with a resigned exhale. 

Tommy can nearly _hear_ Dream’s grin beneath his mask. “So, what’s your offer?” He says, thinly veiled excitement edging his voice.

Tommy hesitates. Did he want to go this far? Would Wilbur want him to go this far? Tommy lets his eyes slip shut, just for a second. At this point it didn’t matter. There was nothing else to do.

“I offer both my... my” Tommy gulps, before getting down on his knees. “My disks, Mellohi and Cat, in return for L’manburg’s independence.”

For once, Dream is speechless. 

“Really?” he sneers, as if this wasn't exactly what he wanted. “After everything, you’re going to give up? Just like that?”

Tommy clenches his fists against the boardwalk. “I’m not giving up. I’m putting myself at your mercy for something I care about. Not like you’d know the difference.”

Dream huffs from above him. “Careful, Tomathy. With that kind of language, I might just kill you and the rest of L’manburg regardless.”

_Hold your tongue._

“So do we have a deal?”

Dream pretends to think. “You know, I think we do, Tommy!”

Tommy breathes easy for the first time in days. Sure, he’d just signed his disks away, but Tubbo, Wilbur, Fundy…

They’d be okay.

Tommy stands once more, confidence lending strength to his legs. “I’ll need an ender chest.”

Dream nods before vanishing into the brush, only to appear a minute later. In his arm he carries a blue-ish green box, dusted with purple particles. Dream sets it down before Tommy, patiently standing to the side, waiting for Tommy to hand away the only two objects he cared about.

He’d gotten the disks with Tubbo, way back when things were simpler. They'd found just the right place and just the right time and had managed to win two unique disks. One for the both of them - then they’d sat with each other on the little birch wood bench they’d made, listening to the crackling notes of the music they’d worked so hard to find.

Inexplicably, Tommy feels more crushed about losing them than he did about losing the duel.

But at this point, he has no choice. So he eases the chest open and reaches his bloodied hand inside, pulling out two shining black disks. Two promises to be lost. Two strings to be pulled. Dream extends his hand, fingers twitching in anticipation. Tommy hesitates, just for a moment.

Then he passes them on, watching as his disks disappear into Dream’s cloak. He watches wearily as Nightmare finds its way into Dream's hand

All his exhaustion rushes back in a tsunami, pulling him to the ground. Tommy lets it. After all, he had no reason to stand. The only thing that was left for him to do in this world was die. Why wouldn't Dream kill him, after all? He had no use for Tommy anymore. He was just a problem. Two in a day, three in a week. Must be a record.

Tommy watches numbly as Dream grips his axe by the pommel, gently lining it up with Tommy's gut. Strangely, he wasn’t afraid. He was just… just here. Just existing until he didn’t anymore.

Something rustles in the bushes behind Dream, giving him pause. Tommy searches blankly for the noise, noticing for the first time a quiet shadow just outside his periphery. Something feels… hauntingly familiar about it. The eyes, maybe. Tommy isn't quite sure. His vision is swimming…

Dream stares at the figure for a very long time. Tommy doesn’t move. He can take his time - he’s patient.

Dream relaxes, nodding to himself.

“You know what, Tommy?” he says suddenly, startling the boy out of his trance. “I’m feeling merciful today. Go run back to your little bluecoat buddies and tell ‘em you ‘won’ the war.”

And then... Dream just walks away. Tommy feels his entire body begin tremble, shaking him right down to his core.

He’d lied. He had been afraid. He’d been so, so afraid. But… but he was alive. And L’manburg was free. He could go find Wilbur and Fundy and Tubbo and tell them they were _free._ They’d won. Tommy stands, an unknown energy suddenly pouring through his muscles. Then he begins to walk, searching through the kingdom for those who had fought alongside him.

This was it. The war was over.

Finally, they're free.

\----

Wilbur, Fundy, Tubbo and him parade through the streets. They all look like shit, feel like shit, but none of them care. They'd won. They'd fucking won. What were the odds?

At some point, Fundy pulls L'manburg's flag from his coat. The four of them hold it and each other up in pride, laughing as civilians stare from the streets in bafflement. A moment for the books, a joy to be remembered after the end.

L'manburg's walls rise in the distance, as beaten and damaged as they are. Even so, they can't help but think how beautiful it was.

_"Suck it, green boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooy!"_

How beautiful it _is._


	15. Interlude: For Tommy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping it short and (very, very) sweet with our finale. I kinda wanted to go all out with it, but that didn't really match with the lengths of the other interludes. And anyways, this is just what felt right.
> 
> Now is the part where I thank you all for your support. Like, seriously,,, it's been a wild ride. I've had sooo much fun writing this, and I'm even more hyped to write about the election. If you'd like to read that fic when it comes out, subscribe to the series this fic is a part of!

The four of them return to L’manburg together - bloody and bruised but undeniably alive. And though their nation was in much the same state, Wilbur could still feel the euphoria of victory pulsing through his veins.

They’re all sitting beneath the willow tree, the last tree that remained after the explosions that had torn through their land. The dawn light peeks over L’manburg’s crumbling walls, creating beauty even in the destruction. He can hear music in the distance - some local celebration. It feels fitting nonetheless. Wilbur's eyes flick to his right - Fundy and Tubbo are snuggled up to each other, taking comfort in the mutual warmth. Wilbur has his arm around Tommy’s shoulder, keeping the injured boy close.

As if on cue, Tommy shifts, pulling away from Wilbur’s side. His tired eyes graze over their faintly smoking land, absorbing every detail of the ruin.

“Wil,” Tommy croaks, his gaze wandering back to Wilbur’s. “How are we going to fix this?”

Wilbur smiles, gently stroking the boy’s hair. “Don’t worry, Toms. The hard part is over. Now is when we get to make the nation we fought for - and that starts with fixing this mess.”

Tommy exhales with a smile, snuggling back beneath Wilbur’s arm. “Okay,” he whispers. “I believe you.”

Sparrows chirp and twitter in the branches above them, singing the symphony of their new land. Wilbur lets the time fly by, finally finding peace in its continual passage. It was over. At last, he could rest.

\-----

The years come and go in much the same fashion. They all work hard to fill in the craters, to bind the splinters in their nation. The trees blossom once again. Old blood is washed away by the rain. Peace negotiations are held and, ultimately, passed.

Not a single sword, bow, or chestplate crosses L‘manburg’s borders, just as Wilbur had promised months ago. And though nightmares of darkened tunnels and deafening explosions plague his sleep, he finds himself… happy.

A nation. His nation. What an absurd thought indeed. And yet, through it all - here he stood, letting the breeze trail gentle fingers through his hair. Wilbur takes a step back, letting himself observe every detail of their healing land. The water of the lake sparkles in the afternoon sun, Fundy sat in its center, waves washing away the grit and mud caught in his fur. Tommy laughs from the branches of the redwood tree as Tubbo attempts to climb to where he is seated. A flag waves in the earth upon the hill, bloody and frayed but ever so beautiful. All blacks and reds and golds and blues.

His colors. 

L’manburg’s colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last thing to all of you who have commented, given kudos, or even just read this fic: Thank you. Genuinely. It means the world to me. Thank you.


End file.
